


A Mask of My Disguise

by amidtheflowers



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Civil War AU, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, On the Run, Oral Sex, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, Touch-Starved, WinterShock - Freeform, cruise ship adventures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-07-15 08:50:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 86,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7215742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amidtheflowers/pseuds/amidtheflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn't think much of her at first. She drank bubble tea every day for Christ's sake. But he won't make that mistake again--not when her taser stares down his nose. </p><p>"I really hope you didn't think I couldn't handle myself."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tokyo_the_Glaive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tokyo_the_Glaive/gifts).



> Hello! This was written for my friend Tokyo_The_Glaive, who is awesome and gave the best prompt for a fic, which was basically Bucky sees a guy harassing Darcy and despite being in hiding, risks blowing his cover by helping her out. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy. :)

**-:-**

**A** **loser hides behind a mask of my disguise**  
**And who I am today is worse than other times**  
**You don't know what I've done**  
**I'm wanted and on the run.**

-Message Man,  _Twenty One Pilots_

**-:-**

** Chapter 1 **

He doesn’t think much of the place when he goes there the first time; it is raining and Bucky is thirsty. Simple as that.

He didn’t realize it was not, in fact, a bistro but a tea shop—nor did he think the tea would be exclusively mixed with tapioca. But it is warm and the shop is a small hole squashed in the middle of a desolate street, and what Bucky likes more than anything right now is little places down empty roads.

The bell above the door chimes at his arrival. He glares up at it before scanning the shop. It is relatively small—tiny round tables, rickety wooden benches, and the buzzing of the refrigerator behind the front counter. A neon sign is wedged in front of the window, gleaming yellow and pink. _Tea House_. A caricature of a pineapple blazes behind the words. Bucky tries not to be too disappointed.

He glances at the corners of the room. No CCTV. Good for him, tough luck for the shop owner. But that’s not his problem.

He almost leaves, though—a small shop is good but not if he’s the only one there—but halts the thought when he sees a figure sitting on the far right.

A girl, pouring over what looks like several textbooks. His eyes travel down to the table—no, _tables_. Two of them are jammed together to accommodate the stacks of paper and notebooks littered atop the surface. Little square notes stick haphazardly onto them and the colors assault his eyes, making them narrow. He blinks when the girl brings a plastic green cup to her lips and slurps loudly through a large straw, eyes never leaving her book.

_Threat: minimal. Surveillance: none. Body count: two. Sweep complete._

Bucky clenches his jaw, jerking his head slightly. He still does it, still can’t control himself. _Next time_ , he thinks as he walks to the counter. Next time he’ll stop before it can start.

An elderly woman taps her nails to the counter to get his attention. “What would you like?”

He glances at the menu. “Taro, large.”

He hands her cash and settles on a bench on the left, taking a long sip. His lips curl a bit, but drinks deeper.

The question looms over his mind of how long he should stay. One month is his maximum, but after twelve months of it maybe it’s time to consider a place to station himself and…sort things out.

_Sort what?_ a voice taunts him. _The missing arm or the seventy years missing from your head?_

Idly he reaches for a fortune cookie that sits in a metal basket atop his table, flitting with the wrapper. He just needed routine. A newer cap. To stop thinking in Russian. Better soap—

“Dude, don’t.”

Bucky’s eyes dart up, freezing. The girl is now looking at him, her eyes wide and he sees that they’re blue, now that they are no longer hidden behind the drape of brown hair when she’d been reading.

He follows her stare to the fortune wrapper in his right hand, then back to her. “Seriously, I wouldn’t do it. It’s poison.”

He stiffens in alarm. What does this girl know? Why would the owner serve poisoned—is this a ploy? Is she undercover? The assessment was wrong, _Threat: maximal, surveillance: none, Body count: undetermined, Mission: extr—_

“I mean, not literally,” she says quickly, sensing the panic behind Bucky’s frozen state. “If you’re okay with sitting on the toilet expelling fire from your,” she gestures incoherently behind her, and Bucky stares, “for three hours, go for it.” He says nothing. She clarifies, “It’s basically an elephant laxative. Tastes really good though, but the cost-benefit is a bit…” she shrugs.

His muscles relax, but not before his hand has already crushed the fortune cookie inside of its wrapper. He restrains against a flinch, dropping the unopened wrapper onto the table. Careful, he needs to be more _careful_ —

Bucky glances up when he hears a soft chuckle. The girl is smiling, shaking her head a little as she fiddles with putting earbuds into her ears again. “Good choice.” The smile becomes a quiet sigh as she returns to the book before her, and the curtain of brown hair returns as she writes furiously in a notebook. Bucky is invisible once more.

The girl found him funny. The idea itself is ironic, enough that he drowns his thoughts with the rest of the bubble tea and gets up to leave.

**-:-**

Darcy is annoyed when she comes in the _Tea House_ and finds only one table free, the rest filled with people that already finished term and weren’t the type of dumbass to take summer classes.

Which is exactly what Darcy is doing. Because not only is she doing a second undergraduate degree, but she’s doing the accelerated kind because she is just that type of masochist.

She’s also the type of masochist to do a Physics major. _Physics._

Darcy had rejected the suggestion vehemently when Erik first brought it up, but when Jane quietly sat with her to discuss the option, Darcy began to consider it.

“You’re already graduating Summa Cum Laude in Political Science,” Jane said gently when Darcy gave a flat _no_ to her proposal. “I’ve seen you proof my equations like they were nothing, Darcy. Quantum astrophysical proofs. You’re _really_ good.”

And she is good. Really, _really_ good. Numbers were always on Darcy’s side and she’s quick to learn, but during her internship with Jane Foster it seems a new aspect of her academic prowess made itself known—one that even Darcy did not want to ignore.

“You want me to do four years of college _again_?” Darcy had said incredulously.

“I don’t _want_ you to do anything,” said Jane. “I’m only telling you what I’ve seen. You’re an amazing political scientist. I think you’d be an equally amazing scientist—biological, chemical, physical, whatever you feel good about. I definitely know you can handle your share of physics, though.” A smile broke on Jane’s face. “But I’m pretty sure you could do it in three years.”

She picked her university strategically—New Mexico didn’t offer the same curriculum or programs that other states did, so it was easy for Darcy to transfer. Her transcript and Jane’s letter of recommendation opened nearly every university for her, and in the end she chose Oxford.

Is she biased because Jane’s laboratory is stationed here? Yes. Does she feel bad about it? Vaguely. But Oxford is a good school, so she doesn’t linger on the sentiment too long.

With one table to sit in and three bags of books weighing her down, though, Darcy wonders. Wonders why she thought this would be a good idea, why she thought she’d actually be able to _handle_ it, no less in the middle of June with three exams in two weeks.

She drops her bags on the table and marches to the counter, already handing over her card to the elderly woman. “Hey Yoan. The usual,” Darcy flashes a smile.

“Did you work out the problem from yesterday?” Yoan asks.

Darcy presses her lips in a thin line, huffing a breath. “I tried. I’m still trying, and will continue to try until the internet no longer is useful to me, or I have a stroke from exhaustion. Whichever comes first, but I suspect it’s the second.”

“The stroke?”

“That would be the one.” Darcy shakes her head, smiling. “No, but I really did try. If I don’t get it by tonight I’ll probably have to send it to my boss to look at. She’s in the same field and also incredibly smart, so— _hey!_ ”

Darcy moves from the counter to the table she’d reserved—that is until two men decided claiming a seat via personal belongings no longer mattered. “Sorry, but that table’s already taken.”

“This your stuff?” the lankier man kicks at one of the bags now on the floor. Darcy grits her teeth but nods, forcing a smile.

“Yes. I’m just about to sit down and—”

“Are you around from here?” he interrupts, a smile already forming on his lips. "Y'look good." Darcy’s stare darkens. Grabbing the bubble tea outstretched in Yoan’s hand, she moves to her table and places the cup down, taking a seat on the bench.

“Nope. Nice meeting you.”

They hover, and Darcy makes a point to jam her earphones into her ears and blast the first song on her phone. The lanky man kicks the table hard when he leaves, and Darcy glares at their retreating backs. “Assholes,” she mutters as she unzips her bag and throws a textbook on the table.

She never notices the man adjacent to her table going still, the familiar baseball cap hiding his face, or the way his left arm tensed over the side of his thigh until the two men left.

**-:-**

In the week Bucky decides to spend his late afternoons at the _Tea House_ , he deduces a few certainties.

Tapioca is fucking disgusting. Gelatinous balls were never meant to be in drinks.

The fortune cookie made him shit pretty badly (he snuck one in his pocket the next day, just to know. He regrets this deeply). Something tells him it’s not the worst he’s ever had, which makes him wonder how Hydra handled the Winter Soldier having extreme diarrhea in between ices.

The girl he saw on the first day comes nearly every day to do homework. He knows it’s homework because of the agonized way she does it—focused, upset, and unwilling to stop yet wanting to stop every second while studying.

Bucky remembers not wanting to do homework. It’s a distant, opaque memory that he makes sure to jot in his notebook at the end of the day. The first to make an unfamiliar emotion bloom in his chest. He writes that down too.

The girl is also studying something incredibly difficult. Once when she’d gone to the restroom, he chanced a glance at her notes and felt his mind go utterly blank. Lines and letters and numbers and what looked like theorems were strewn on every bit of surface she could find on her papers. It nauseated him in a way tapioca could not, and resolved the girl was much braver than he initially surmised her to be.

She’s back today. She looks stricken when she enters, glancing about the tiny shop and all the others crowding inside it. Bucky feels the same—it is too crowded and his skin crawled the tiniest bit when the door was blocked by a line of people earlier. She seems to accept it, for she drops her things on the table next to his and goes to order.

The hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck suddenly rise. He glances up and sees it; two men staring in his direction. His right hand grips his cup tightly, dropping his head down a bit to hide his face in shadow. _Threat: possible. Body count: twenty._ Bucky’s metal arm clicks as he makes a fist, forcing the words to stop. He doesn’t need to do a check to know if he is in danger. He can handle this…

The two men saunter towards Bucky. _Shit. Shit. Threat level: imminent. Body count: sixteen. Weapon: evasive man—_

They stop short and grab the bag atop the table next to his, dumping it unceremoniously on the floor. Bucky doesn’t move, forcing himself to breath slowly through his nose. The table. They are just trying to take the table.

“Hey!”

The girl. Bucky sinks further in his seat, overhearing the conversation. He can detect mild levels of aggression from the taller man, but after a feckless kick to her table, they leave. Bucky exhales quietly.

“Assholes,” he hears her mutter. He agrees by taking a swig of tea sans tapioca.

For the next hour no other words come from her, and Bucky watches the shop empty as dusk blends seamlessly into night, young folks meandering down the street and disappearing into darkness. Science Girl is bleary, her drink long-finished and staring blankly at her notes. He senses agitation, from the tight grip her fingers have on her scalp to the slightest tremble of her pencil. He frowns just a bit, curious.

She drops the pencil roughly on her book, running her hands through her hair before pressing the heels of her palm against her eyes. Inhaling, exhaling. She’s genuinely distressed, and Bucky shifts uncomfortably, glancing down at his lap.

He hears a quiet, “I can’t do this.” Lower than a whisper, softer than wind. But he hears it.

She straightens then, stacking her books and shoving them inside her bags. She stands, adjusting her shirt and wrapping her cardigan tightly around herself and slinging her bags over her shoulders.

Bucky lifts his eyes only when the bell rings and the door clambers shut. He doesn’t know why he stays so late…why he’s been frequenting this hovel for longer than a day.

He wonders why two men trail after the direction Science Girl went.

Cogs turn in his mind and his mind goes blank. He finds himself standing, walking, turning. Cool air hits his skin and the sensors hardwired to his brain tell him direction, pressure, temperature, fractional values he writes off as unimportant. His feet are silent as he follows the shadows down the end of a street, a vacant corner.

They’re standing, the two men facing away from him. Civilian is staring at them with a glare, her hands shoved in her pockets. Unimpressed.

The taller man glances behind, staring straight at him. He grins slowly.

“Too easy.”

The words hardly register before his mind blares _Threat: immediate. Surveillance: none. Body count: three. Mission: incapacitate. Weapon: Physical strength._

The shorter one swings at his face and Bucky ducks, his arm already coming for a counter and a hard uppercut. He moves in a blur, hardly thinking, body on automatic. Swing. Swing. Dodge. Instep. _Crack_. _Crack._

When the mist clears from his mind he’s panting hard, body tense and hands in fists. He stares at the two motionless bodies on the cement, and faintly registers, _Mission: complete._

He hears a sharp inhale. Bucky looks up, staring straight into Science Girl’s eyes. They’re wide, still. Something familiar crosses in them, and Bucky feels like a deer frozen in headlights, unable to move under her cutting gaze.

She lifts her arm and points a device at him, then fires.

He watches three prongs zoom past his ear and electricity fires down the wiring, landing straight into a man behind him—a man who has a baton in his hand ready to strike at Bucky’s head, but is now falling uselessly at his side as he drops to the ground, jolting uncontrollably.

Bucky turns back around, staring at the girl in shock.

Dryly, she says, “I’m gonna guess they weren’t actually after _me_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Tokyo for being so awesome and encouraging me and being so incredibly kind, and Latessitrice for being my personal cheerleader and inviting me to this ship with open arms and a list of stories to try. It's been a few years since I wrote an MCU fic, but I'm really happy to return. :)
> 
> Let me know what you thought! xx
> 
> You can find me on tumblr: amidtheflowers.tumblr.com


	2. Chapter 2

**-:-**

**“When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.”**

-A Game of Thrones,  _George R. R. Martin_

**-:-**

** Chapter 2 **

The man is still twitching behind him as Bucky stares into the girl’s eyes.

He didn’t think much of her at first. She drank bubble tea every day for Christ’s sake. But he won’t make that mistake again—not when her taser stares down his nose.

"I really hope you didn’t think I couldn’t handle myself.”

Bucky swallows. The chatter that should be firing in his head has gone silent. Who would have guessed the best way to stop his uncontrollable threat assessments was a girl— _this_ girl—holding her own?

“Those men were following you,” says Bucky quietly.

The girl quirks her eyebrow just slightly and slides her gaze to where the man’s twitching suddenly ceases, going limp. He groans, and the girl steps forward and pulls back her foot, giving a hard kick to the man’s head. The groaning stops instantly.

“And you followed after them,” she answers, locking her eyes with his challengingly. “I’d say those guys were counting on it. Now _why_ were they counting on it?”

Bucky clenches his jaw tightly, eyes darting back and forth. He hears a scuffle, the sound distant but near enough that his heightened senses catch it. He whirls around sees shadows—they dart across the alleys, winding up the empty street and flit against the dim lamplight.

“We have to go.”

“What?” the girl plants herself on the sidewalk and holds up the taser again, only this time it is trained above his navel. “I’m not going anywhere with you, buddy. I don’t even know you!”

Bucky glances around again and his skin crawls, almost _feeling_ the armed bodies zeroing in on himself and the girl. He turns to leave, his back facing the girl; civilian casualty is inevitable in any situation under threat. He’d warned her. It’s beyond his control. And Science Girl is determined to die.

Science Girl.

Something creeps inside him, curling around his chest and gripping tightly. Another image makes itself known in Bucky’s mind, of errant numbers and color-coded notes. He scowls deeply and—for _fuck’s_ sake—“Run!” he growls before wrapping his fingers around her elbow and yanking her into a run.

“Get _off—”_ she shrieks and he senses a vague sting from the receptors on his metal arm. She’s tased him. Bucky glowers at the prongs like one would at an errant fly and yanks the wires free, glaring at Science Girl as he waves them in front of her eyes. “Don’t waste these!”

She ignores him, choosing to use her massive book bags as leverage and swings them so they crash into his back. He stumbles a bit but he’s still holding her so she stumbles with him, but he keeps his feet running forward and forcing her to follow.

Later he thinks maybe explaining himself would’ve been a bit more tactful; he knows what this looks like to a bystander. But he can hear them loudly now, their feet pounding on the pavement just meters from where he and the girl flee, and Bucky doesn’t have time to explain. He needs to _think_.

The girl has no such plans. She’s given up on wrangling free from him; instead, she uses her free hand to pull out her phone. “Hey, Jane. It’s me. I’m being kidnapped—I think. I’m pretty sure you can track my phone online to see where I am, I’m gonna call 999—” she never finishes, a scream ripping from her throat when a bullet bursts clear through her phone. She stumbles hard but Bucky is already covering her, pulling her against a brick wall of an alley as a spray of bullets narrowly misses them.

“We’re being shot at!” she yells, her eyes wide with fear as her hand still holds the phone, now shattered and shaking in her grasp. “What the fuck! What the fuck!”

Bucky glances up at the buildings but sees no openings, nor ladders to climb up. They will have to keep going forward. “I know; let’s go.”

He starts pulling her forward but she violently wrenches out of his grip, backing away from him. “They’re after _you_ , dude. You dragged me into this! I’m in this because—because they—who even are they?—knew you’d try to help me!”

Bucky stares. There’s a wild look in her eyes, a hunted look he’s all too familiar with. “You’re right,” he forces out, “these people knew I would help you. They’ve been watching both of us. You, because of me. I’m sorry.” He glances behind her uneasily. The bullets have stopped firing. He turns back to her. “But if you want to live, you need to trust I will keep you alive. If you come. With. Me.”

His voice is hoarse from disuse, but he has her full attention, staring at him with an inexplicable expression. Silently, she holds out her hand.

Their hands cling tightly as he backs them down several alleys, silent save for their pants of exhaustion. He doesn’t like how quiet it is. They’re waiting for something.

_Threat: immediate. Surveillance: unknown. Body count: Five._

“Here,” Bucky ushers her to a dumpster. “Get underneath, close to the wall.”

Her nose wrinkles, but the severity of his stare stops whatever protest she may have had. “My stuff,” she gestures to the bags she still carries.

Bucky flips open the cover of the dumpster and throws her bags inside. “Underneath. _Now._ ”

"Wouldn't it be better if I climbed in—?"

"Now!"

She barely squeezes underneath before the first punch is thrown. Bucky was anticipating it and sidesteps, thrusting his fingers deep into the man’s lower back where his kidneys are. The man howls and staggers back but Bucky’s hands continue, dodging, ducking, slashing the blade that had been concealed under his shirt against their skin. One by one, they fall to the floor.

He blinks several times, fighting to control himself. He heads to the dumpster and crouches down. He holds out his hand. “You can come out now.”

A hoarse sound comes from the shadow. “You know, I—I think I’ll stay here.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “It’s safe. The next set of guys are a half-mile away.”

“I just saw you take down seven guys tonight. Can’t you—you know—fight them all off, then?”

Bucky shakes his head. “There’s fifty at least. All with guns that we don’t have. We gotta run.”

A pale hand feebly grips his, and he pulls her from beneath the dumpster. She’s covered in grime now. He starts leading her to the next alley when she tugs on his arm.

“Hold up. I need my bags.”

Bucky shakes his head. “It’ll slow us down. We need to keep moving.”

She glares at him, her grip on his fingers tightening. “I need those books. I _need_ them. That’s my life in there.”

“We need to keep _moving_.” He turns back and continues walking. He can feel her sullen silence, vibrating through where their skin touches. He tries not to think of it. She will thank him later.

“Where are we going?” she says after fifteen minutes of silent trekking. They’re surrounded by forestry now, the lamplights giving way to encroaching darkness. “This isn’t the way to the police department. To _civilization_ , for that matter.”

“We can’t go to the police,” he says tersely, glancing behind him.

She scowls. “Why not? This is what they’re for. People trying to kill you? Call the police. Do you have a phone on you?”

“No.”

“Liar. I saw you check it at the _Tea House_. That’s right,” she raises a challenging eyebrow when he glances at her with surprise, “I noticed you. Kinda hard to miss a guy who comes in every day for bubble tea with the same shredded baseball cap and a beard rivaling a yeti.”

Bucky ducks his head. “We’re not calling the police. Authorities are most likely to be infiltrated by them, still,” he mutters, shaking the flash of memories from his head—zip line—ambulance—rifle— _no._ He exhales evenly, clearing his head. “They surveil those lines anyway. It’s too dangerous for you.”

She pauses at that, narrowing her eyes, but says nothing.

They reach a small clearing, and a motel sits at the end with an empty highway running on the opposite end. The girl shivers.

“I’m getting a real _Bates Motel_ vibe from this place,” she mutters. When he pulls out a key and heads to his door, she nods, pressing her lips together. “Which of course is where you live. I should’ve guessed that.”

He stands awkwardly as she enters his room, closing the door behind her. The room has little more than a bed and a kitchenette, with a small television stand shoved in the corner of the room. The girl glances at him warily as she takes a step to the bathroom.

“So. You kept me alive.”

Bucky nods a little. “I did.”

“Right…right.” Her gaze hardens. “I’m going to the bathroom. Don’t try any shit. I still have a taser, and I don’t know why it didn’t work on your left arm but I’m sure I can find a place where it will. When I come back,” she narrows her eyes. “You’re going to tell me exactly what is going on.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say. So instead, he nods again.

**-:-**

Darcy stares at herself in the mirror for a long time. There’s dirt and quite possibly, quite literally, _shit_ on her chin. Her cardigan is nothing but a wet scarf now riddled with dumpster grime. Peeling it off and dropping it on the floor, Darcy turns on the faucet. She scrubs her hands and face with the bar soap until it’s too much for her, rinsing herself vigorously. She cleans every bit of skin she can but the smell and the gross feeling lingers.

Darcy’s fingers twist unhappily at the ends of the matted strands framing her face. Her hair is beyond help. But there’s no way she’s jumping in a shower with a Very Dangerous Man standing on the other side of the door. There are _rules_.

Jamming her hand down her pocket, Darcy stares at her broken phone. She holds it level to her gaze, staring through the distinct circle where a bullet had run through it. She swallows hard, feeling suddenly ill.

 _I could have died tonight_.

“I should have died tonight,” she says faintly. She squeezes her eyes shut.

Hopefully Jane got her message. Hopefully her absence from her dorm is noticed. Hopefully she doesn’t die tonight.

“Fuck it,” Darcy yanks on the faucet again and piles her hair in front of her before shoving it underneath the running water.

Ten minutes later Darcy feels more composed, more in control. Her hands still shake but not as much, which is definitely progress. Leaving the cardigan on the tiled floor, Darcy grips her taser tightly and opens the door.

The man is sitting on the bed, staring blankly at the wall. His shoulders are hunched, looking more downtrodden than she’s seen him all night. He straightens a little when she reenters the room, watching her close the bathroom door behind her. His gaze travels to her right hand where she holds her taser, though it’s not pointed at him. He doesn’t seem surprised.

There’s nowhere for her to sit and she’s certainly not going to sit on the bed next to _him_ , so she stands in front of him. Crossing her arms tightly, Darcy looks at him. “It’s time to explain.”

He nods, not meeting her eyes.

“Who are you?”

She sees his jaw clench. Dragging his eyes to her face, he says quietly, “Nobody.”

Darcy shakes her head. “Nope. You’re definitely somebody. Somebody who has an armada trying to kill them. Somebody who was watched closely enough that said armada linked me as someone they’d save. Somebody who felt responsible enough to drag my ass all over Oxford to keep me alive.”

He presses his lips together, a look of contrition crossing his face. “I’m sorry you got involved. I didn’t…” He looks frustrated, as if not finding the right words to explain himself.

“Let’s start with something simpler,” Darcy continues. “Who’s trying to kill you?”

At this, he looks her directly in her eyes. “Don't be scared."

"What?" Darcy frowns. "I'm not."

"Just...don't be." Darcy looks at him expectantly. Finally, he says, "Hydra.”

Darcy stills. Something like ice drops in her stomach, sending a shiver down her spine. “What did you say?”

He looks at her warily. “Hydra."

“You…” Darcy scowls, clutching at her head as she flits through information popping in her mind— _Hydra?_ She remembers reading so much a year ago—was it a year? Two? Hydra. She’s taken exams on this. Exams she aced. Dissertations—news coverage, a year and a half ago—information leaks made to the public—

“Hydra is after you,” she says slowly. She takes in his appearance, looking at him properly for the first time since he first grabbed her hand and told her to run. There is something familiar about his eyes. “What’s your name?”

Maybe it’s the way she stares at him that makes him tense. Maybe it’s the stillness of the room, the soft way her voice echoes against the paper-thin walls. He holds her gaze, back straightening.

“Bucky.”

He jerks when the taser drops from her hand, air rushing out of her with a soft sound. She steps back once, twice, until her knees hit the television stand.

“Holy shit,” Darcy whispers, looking away distantly. “You’re…holy _shit_.”

This probably isn’t the reaction he expected, for he’s staring at her apprehensively, eyes flickering back and forth from her hands to her face to the unsteady way she’s leaning against the stand.

“What’s your name?” he makes an attempt to get her back, and her eyes snap back to his.

“Darcy,” she says, then shakes her head. “I’m sorry. It’s Darcy Lewis. You’re…Bucky Barnes. Right?” He nods again. She fumbles against the stand trying to step away, but it suddenly flickers to life. “Sorry,” she tries to turn it off but all she manages is making the volume a little louder.

“It’s fine—leave it.”

But she doesn’t. She stares at the screen, mouth agape. Slowly she turns to him, all the questions she had on the tip of her tongue fading, her prior scrutiny melting into one concentric, pointed query she didn’t think she’d be asking tonight.

“Is part of your thing being in two places at once?”

Bucky furrows his brows. “What?” When she continues to stare at him, he says firmly, “No, of course not.”

“Well,” she steps away from the television as the news reel flickers brightly before her. “Apparently you killed the king of Wakanda an hour ago.”

Bucky stares at the screen uncomprehendingly as Darcy paces about the room. “This is,” Darcy’s voice shakes, “information overload. Okay. Breathe. A super soldier saved your life. A super soldier is the reason your life is in danger at all. Hydra’s trying to kill me. My analytical physics exam is in two days. I’m probably going to miss the review. And the quiz. Jane will probably listen to my message in the morning. She keeps putting her phone on Do Not Disturb and I _told her_ not to do that—”

“That’s not me,” Bucky says faintly, staring at the murky photograph pulled up on the screen. “I didn’t do that.”

“Of course you didn’t do that, you were shoving me under a dumpster an hour ago!” Darcy’s voice borders hysterical, and she clenches her fingers against her palms until she’s composed herself again. Right. Okay. “Hydra’s after you. And now you’re being framed. My phone’s been murdered, and you won’t give me yours. Give me yours, right now. Wait,” Darcy snatches back her hand, “no point. Jane’s asleep and her phone is on Do Not Disturb. I _told her_ not to _do that._ ”

“It’s not safe to call anyone right now,” Bucky tells her, his voice like gravel. “My phone’s secure but we need to lay low.”

Darcy nods fervently. “Let me just—let’s put the picture together. You’re Bucky Barnes. According to the Shield leak over a year ago, you’re the…Winter Soldier,” she looks ill when she says this, and he seems to curl in on himself a bit, “but—you left—and Hydra fell…Shield fell….And somehow, you’ve been in Oxford this week drinking bubble tea. Where I also was, studying my ass off. All of this is completely normal.”

Bucky shrugs his shoulders a bit. “That about sums it up.”

“Ha,” Darcy gives a short laugh, startling him again. “Not all of it because in that time you clearly kept an eye on me, or else they wouldn’t have tried using me as bait to lure you out. God,” Darcy looks at him incredulously. “Were you following me?”

His eyes widen and Darcy backs away from him, snatching up her taser from the floor and aiming it at him.

“No!” He holds his hands up in a show of harmlessness. “I wasn’t—I wouldn’t.”

“Why did they pick me?” Darcy demands. “They knew you’d been watching me. Why were you watching me?”

“I wasn’t—watching _you_.” Bucky scowls deeply, looking annoyed with himself. “I just…liked watching you study. It reminded me of things. My life.”

His word are honest, she can tell. Slowly, the taser lowers. “Well you fascination with my awful studying habits has put an APB on my head alongside yours. I know how this works, man. If I go anywhere, they’ll snatch me up and use me as bait until they get what they need from you. I’m stuck.” The word resonates in her, her heart sinking. “I’m stuck...”

It’s as if all the energy keeping her upright drains from her, and she sits bonelessly on the cold floor. Her eyes flicker to the television, and her heart sinks even further. “Looks like the good Avengers are after you too.”

Bucky glances at the screen and tenses up. Darcy follows his gaze. “Captain America. You two were friends.”

Bucky’s eyes snap to hers, looking for the first time annoyed with her. “You know a lot.”

Darcy is unfazed. “I majored in Political Science. It’s my job to know all of our history.”

He seems surprised by this, filing the information for later. “Do you know…a lot about me?”

Darcy blinks. “Just what I learned studied for my exams. Do you not…?”

He looks away, clenching is jaw hard. _Oh._

Darcy stares at the television again, watching the news reel repeat. She thinks of Jane, who will wake in a few hours and undoubtedly try to find her. She thinks how she shouldn’t have chosen one spot to study, and maybe if she listened to her common sense more she wouldn’t have frequented a bubble tea house so much. Her thighs certainly didn't want the extra baggage.

Darcy turns to Bucky. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to swear you won’t try to hurt me—I know who you are but that doesn’t exactly make me feel any safer being around you. Then, you’re going to bring me to Jane Foster. Her laboratory is on the Oxford campus and she’ll—she’ll have some contacts. Maybe find a way to clear this up because it looks like the world _and_ what’s left of Shield thinks you killed King T’Chaka. Which I know isn’t true, so that makes me a key witness. I’ll smooth things over, you’ll be in the clear, the Avengers will take care of Hydra, and I’ll still have time to take my exam in two days.”

“I'm not going to hurt you. This...Jane Foster was part of Shield?” Bucky asks, looking at her suspiciously. “You’re Shield?”

Darcy can’t help it; she laughs. “Do I look even remotely qualified to be Shield?” He takes the question seriously and appraises her, coming to the right conclusion: obviously _not_. “Jane isn’t either. We’re just two people who had contact with them a few years ago. We’re not funded or affiliated with them, but Jane will have more contact numbers to get in touch with them than me. Which is why we need to get to her.”

“You shouldn’t be contacting Shield. They’ve been compromised for a while. I would know.”

“I know, but some former members aren’t. Look, Jane is our best bet. I have no power to help you without her, who will be able to get in contact, _somehow_ , with one of the Avengers. It’ll be a domino effect from there. Okay?” At his blank expression, Darcy glares. “I didn’t ask for this, okay? This is the best solution I can think of. I can’t run with you forever. Hydra’s going to catch up with us eventually, and I have two more years of college to finish that I’m paying a lot for. A _lot._ ”

“Fine,” he grinds out, looking just as annoyed. “We leave tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

Abruptly he stands, sauntering over to the bathroom. The door slams behind him.

She glowers at the door, then turns to look wistfully at the bed.

“Yeah right,” she mutters. Grabbing a sheet from the closet, Darcy lays it on the floor and wraps one end around her. She keeps the taser in her hand.

**-:-**

In the pitch darkness and between fits of sleep, Darcy’s eyes crack open. It takes a few blinks to realize something is sitting in front of her, and Darcy squints.

A gasp escapes her lips.

Her bags. All three, which had been discarded in the dumpster hours ago, now sit before her.

Darcy sits up immediately, looking at the bed. Bucky sits still, his back straight. His eyes slide to hers. Her gaze lowers to his hands, and her stomach clenches. He’s holding a very large rifle.

“Go to sleep,” he says quietly.

Darcy looks at him through the darkness. Silently, she lies back down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am speechless--thank you SO much for the overwhelmingly kind feedback for the first chapter. Holy shit. I forgot just how wonderful the Darcy fandom is. You're all amazing.
> 
> Please drop a line and let me know what you thought of this one! xx


	3. Chapter 3

**-:-**

**"Hermione had taken his hand again and was gripping it tightly. He could not look at her, but returned the pressure, now taking deep, sharp gulps of the night air, trying to steady himself, trying to regain control."**

-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows,  _J.K. Rowling_

**-:-**

** Chapter 3 **

 

He thinks he’s sat for four hours, unmoving in the darkness. He hears the steady sound of Darcy’s breathing. The faint ticking from the digital clock mounted on the nightstand; the muffled sounds from the room next door. He tries to ignore that last one the most.

But somewhere between the breathing and the ticking and the glimpse of light that flickers through the curtains when a car passes by, Bucky closes his eyes.

They fly open when the sounds are no longer in union, his body snapping up from the bed in alarm. He blinks when sunlight hits his eyes, scowling as his irises adjust. How the hell is the sun out?

The question amplifies when he sees Darcy, very much awake and hunched over the books he brought back for her. She’s piled the mass of her hair atop her head with large, protuberant glasses sitting at the end of her nose, legs folded underneath her as she scribbles something in a very dense notebook.

“Morning,” she says, not looking up from her work. “Took you long enough.”

Bucky bites down the ire that flares at her tone—as if he’s been asleep all night!

“You’ve been asleep all night.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow. “I haven’t.”

Darcy glances up at him. “I’ve been awake since two-thirty, buddy. You were out like a light. _Probably_ not best to sleep against the barrel of a gun.” She pauses. “I didn’t see that last night, by the way. Where did you get it?”

“I thought I told you to get some sleep,” he says tersely, ignoring her question and shoving the rifle away from him on the bed. He stands up and his legs protest only slightly, deftly stretching them out.

Darcy snorts, a humorless smile twisting at her lips. “You clearly haven’t been a college student in a while. I don’t _have_ a sleep schedule.”

She turns back to her work and he pauses, taking her in. The clothes she was in yesterday now stick to her uncomfortably. He glances at the bathroom, then stalks to the closet.

She jumps when he dumps a shirt and towel on her books, then raises an eyebrow when he hesitantly throws a pajama too. Her eyes travel up to his. “Um…?”

“You can change. Into that. If you want.” He glances towards the bathroom. “Use whatever you need.”

She stares at him, and he shifts uncomfortably. “I’m going to do a sweep of the perimeter. Be ready to leave in twenty.”

Her mouth parts in response, but he’s already closing the front door behind him.

**-:-**

Darcy stares at the shower tub with a frown. A plain bar of soap and a bottle of a nameless conditioner-and-shampoo combo sit on the ledge. She glances out the living room again, making sure nobody is there, and checks the time. Sixteen minutes.

Not that she’s afraid he’ll actually be angry if she’s not ready by then, but somewhere in the last two and a half years she’s inherited Jane’s level of punctuality, and she wants to prove a point to herself.

She was surprised when he dropped the clothes in front of her, and had a response ready on her lips of _no thanks, I’ll wait ‘til I’m back in my dorm_ , but then he fled the room and left her in the safety of her own presence. She tries not to think that he left for her benefit, under a pretense of sweeping. She tries not to think of it too deeply.

Darcy showers quickly, scrubbing every inch of her until the cloak of smell and dirt finally leaves her body and her hair no longer smells like an old hamper. The towel is stiff and abrasive on her skin but she plows through, rubbing it briskly before switching to her hair. Eight minutes. It physically pains her to wear the same bra and underwear, especially when one has a stain she just doesn’t _understand_ and _can’t get out_ , but she dons them quickly and then turns to Bucky’s clothes.

The shirt is nondescript, as are the loose pajamas. Carefully she pulls the pajamas up, and has to pull on the strings tightly just to make them stay at her hips. The shirt is the same problem, but she knows there’d be no way around it; a super soldier does not a thin man make. Sighing, she runs her fingers through her hair quickly and pops her head out the bathroom door.

Fuck. Two minutes. Dropping to her knees, Darcy is in the middle of shoving her books inside her bags when the door reopens.

Bucky stands silently, his face grim with sunlight pouring behind him, lighting him up like an off-putting halo. His gaze drops to her ( _his_ , they’re his) shirt and pajamas, then to where she’s collecting her pens, and she can’t quite describe the strange look that passes over him—eyes widening almost imperceptibly, his hands curling into loose fists. Darcy chalks it up to her very convincing appearance of an impressionable potato.

“I still—have a—minute,” Darcy grunts, zipping up the last bag. She jumps up and smiles brightly. “Right on time. What’s the agenda?”

He glances away from her and reaches underneath the bed, pulling out a pack of his own and opening it on the bed. He seems to be checking it, and she hears several clicks as he rummages through it. She watches in horror as he pulls out a blood-stained knife hidden somewhere down his jeans and chucks it inside, replacing it with a cleaner, larger one.

Without meaning to she inhales sharply. He looks up. Watching her warily, he hides the knife from view and zips up the bag. He ducks his head, shoulders rigid, as tufts of brown hair fall over and hide his face.

A wave of guilt gnaws through her, and she clears her throat. “You’re, ah, ready too. Great. You should—should probably wash….that knife. I’ve seen enough movies to know it’ll go bad if there’s still blood on it, so…” Darcy makes a popping noise with her lips and suddenly she cringes, _why did I make that sound what the ever living—_

“Your clothes are still in the bathroom,” he interrupts her thoughts, having abandoned the pack and was peeking inside the bathroom. “The room needs to be clear.”

“Oh,” Darcy shakes her head and quickly steps around Bucky, bunching the clothes into a ball and kneeling before her bags. Of course the job is easier said than done, or rather thought and done—she grits her teeth as she tries zipping up each bag, but no matter which one she put her clothes in the bags refuse to close. She can feel Bucky’s eyes on her and her cheeks start burning, thinking bitterly to herself, _of course this happens right now, of_ course—

A gloved hand reaches for the clothes expectantly. Darcy looks at him and he stares impassively, as if unfazed whether she fit them in hers or not. She holds them out and he takes the ball of clothes from her, reaching for his pack and carefully tucking them inside.

The heat won’t leave her cheeks as she shoulders two bags and slings the third around her arm, watching Bucky drape his pack over himself and click the fastening over his chest. She looks at him expectantly as they pause at the door.

“There’s a diner,” he tilts his head vaguely across the door.

“Oh. Good. Lead the way.” Darcy nods, and steps back as he opens the door.

The motel is as dull in the daytime as it was when Darcy and Bucky came upon it at night; a few cars are parked in the lot and there’s something overwhelmingly sleepy about the place that fills Darcy with unease. She walks a little more briskly until her shoulder brushes against Bucky’s.

True to his word, a dilapidated diner sits across from the motel, looking as washed out and dank as the room Darcy slept in last night. Bucky pulls open the door for her and they choose a booth that’s far from the window and hidden in the corner. She notices him compulsively tucking the old baseball cap over his eyes, fiddling with the end of his left glove.

“Kinda hot for gloves, isn’t it?” Darcy decides to fill the silence, quirking up the corner of her mouth in a little smile. “Is it a Deadpool thing or a Rogue thing?”

He looks at her like she’s spoken a foreign language. Quickly she amends, “Sorry, you wouldn’t know those. You don’t—you didn’t have to wear them in the motel room. I already know your left arm isn’t…” she trails, watching him for a reaction—for anything—but he says nothing. Darcy sighs inwardly and orders her food.

They eat in silence. Darcy’s leg shakes where it’s crossed over her left leg, an anxious movement she’s never been able to kick. If it bothers Bucky, he makes no mention of it.

“So,” Darcy sets down her fork, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning on the table. Bucky looks up appraisingly. “How’d you end up here in Oxford? Last anyone heard you were in D.C.”

Bucky stares at his plate, pushing his eggs with his fork. He’s hardly eaten any of it. “Stowed on a freighter. Took a train.”

“A stowaway?” Darcy is impressed. “Damn, that’s—that’s resourceful, I guess. I couldn’t do it. Seasickness isn’t hereditary but you’ll never find a Lewis on a boat.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips, and Darcy’s smile widens. “Why Oxford, though?”

Bucky shrugs. “Seemed nice.”

She can tell he’s not telling her the whole truth, but she doesn’t press further. Darcy nearly jumps in surprise when he tentatively asks his own question.

“Why are you here?” Bucky asks curiously, his voice quiet. “California?”

“New Mexico, actually,” says Darcy. “It’s, uh, kind of a really weird story. I actually finished my degree two months ago in Political Science,” a flash of recognition flits across Bucky’s face, but it’s gone just as fast, “and the researcher I worked under encouraged me to pursue physics. Apparently I’m good at it. So I…I did. Here.”

“It’s hard?”

“ _God_. You don’t even know. You’ll never dislike vectors so much in your life. Fifty problems every day? It’s? Too much.” She shakes her head. “Hence the prolific bubble tea coping mechanism you got to witness this week.”

He nods, hiding a smile with a long swig of coffee. She watches him swirl the liquid idly in the cup. “I saw your notes once,” he admits, glancing at her sheepishly. “Gave me a headache looking at it.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. His mouth parts, as if hesitating, before saying, “Even…even considered you were undercover, something like that.” 

“Me?” Darcy says in amazement, and at his small nod Darcy can’t help the laugh that bubbles in her throat. “Who else would willingly put themselves through that though, right?”

The waitress came and hands the check, and Darcy fishes through her bag to pull out her credit card. Suddenly Bucky’s hand covers hers forcefully, and throws a few bank notes on the table. Darcy scowls, and Bucky says quietly, “No credit cards.”

Darcy’s still trying to shove the card back in her wallet when they leave the diner, and she quips, “Let me guess: no public transportation either.”

Bucky gives her a hard look, and Darcy comes to a complete halt. “No. No way. It took us forever last night to walk to this hole in the wall—you want to walk more than that to get to Jane’s laboratory? That’s more time wasted, and more ways your _old friends_ can find us!”

Bucky considers her words. “The bus,” he says finally. “There’s a stop half a mile from here. We’ll go from there.”

Darcy nods, satisfied, and hefts her bags higher on her shoulder.

**-:-**

The bus ride, as all bus rides go, is an extremely unpleasant experience for the both of them. Bucky glances around furtively by habit, but Darcy. He feels for her. She winces every time the bus makes a sharp turn or a hard brake, the weight of her bags making her grasp on the pole much more challenging. Twice she nearly falls over, until he steadies her by wrapping his arm around her shoulders. He tries not to notice the pink that creeps up her neck, or how warm she is under his arm.

Darcy seems to be much more at ease once they arrive at the Oxford campus. Her stride is quick and her back straighter, and she starts telling him about Dr. Foster’s research.

“I drove through a tornado to get the readings on an Einstein-Rosen bridge,” she tells him proudly. At his perplexed look, she grins. “Oh, there’s so much you’ll find out, Bucky. Just wait until I tell you about the internet.”

“I know what that is,” Bucky frowns defensively.

“Have you used it?” she asks. Bucky looks away, clenching his jaw.

Bucky checks over his shoulder every few seconds, staring suspiciously at anyone who glance their way longer than necessary. _Threat—_

“On your left,” Darcy grabs him by the shoulder and steers him to a large building. He walks uneasily behind her as she brings him to a stairwell. They climb to the third floor before she strides to the hallway, every step weighted with purpose.

“Here,” she says, motioning to the door on the right. “Jane should be in her office.”

Bucky tenses the moment they step inside. Rows of equipment are upturned, papers scattered across the floor. Darcy scowls in confusion.

“J—”

Bucky clamps his hand over her mouth, holding her close and darting his eyes around the lab before catching sight of the emergency shower station. Pulling the curtain back, he backs the both of them into it, closing the curtain just as the door to the office across the laboratory opens.

“Like I said, I don’t know where she is,” Bucky hears a sharp voice snap with irritation. “If you were actually concerned you’d be out there _looking_ for her instead of harassing me. How do you even know she’s missing?”

“That’s classified ma’am,” a deeper voice retorts. Darcy stills in his arms, her breath stuttering to a stop.

“Do you plan on cleaning up my lab at least after you guys tore it apart?”

“I’m afraid we don’t have the time, ma’am.”

“Don’t have the—what _do_ you have the time for, Agent—” she pauses, “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“We can discuss particulars at your debriefing, Dr. Foster. We’ll contact you when we have any further information.”

Bucky watches shadows dance across the curtain, and hears a door open. It closes loudly.

“Christ,” he hears a soft whisper.

Darcy pulls free from Bucky’s grasp and snaps back the curtain. The woman standing in the lab jolts in surprise and hisses, “ _Darcy!_ ”

The two women reach for each other and embrace tightly. The woman, who Bucky assumes is Jane Foster, connects eyes with him and goes rigid. “Is this him? Is this the guy who kidnapped you?” Jane pulls away from Darcy and retrieves an instrument from the tabletop next to her. “You can just stay _right there_ ,” she says to Bucky. He didn’t plan to move anyway.

“He didn’t kidnap me,” Darcy steps in front of him, blocking his view from Jane. “He saved my life. A few times, actually. For god's sake, Jane, put the ring stand down, you look ridiculous.”

“Why did he need to?” Jane narrows her eyes, then looks to Darcy. “What’s going on, Darcy?” Her voice softens with concern, and Darcy wilts a little.

Bucky stays in the shower stall as Darcy catches up Jane on the last twelve hours. Jane’s eyes flicker to his multiple times throughout the story, each time looking decidedly less murderous but no less wary.

“Why did you cover for me in front of those agents, though?” Darcy asks her. “You heard my voicemail.”

“Honestly? I wasn’t even sure who they really were. There’s no Shield anymore, remember? Unless I hear directly from people I know, I can’t trust anyone that walks through here in a suit and a wire.” Jane rubs her hand up Darcy’s arm. “I couldn’t risk putting you in more danger.”

“We’re in a lot of danger right now, Jane,” Darcy says quietly. “And for reasons beyond my control, I’m part of this.” She glances back at Bucky. “We need you to make a few phone calls. Do you still have any contacts with the former Shield agents? The good guys? Thor?”

“I might,” Jane bites her lip, pulling out her phone and scrolling through it. Her brow furrows. “I’m sorry Darce, I don’t have any active numbers anymore. When Shield went down, everything else did too. But I _can_ find a way to get in contact with Tony Stark, probably—his company reached out to me months ago to collaborate data on the particle thermodynamics research we’ve been doing.” Her eyes flicker to where Bucky still stands. “You can come out of there, you know. I won’t bite.”

Bucky steps out of the shower and stalks to the door, pressing his hand against the metal. He can hear something vaguely, like a muffled conversation…

His eyes widen.

“We need to leave. Now. _Now._ ”

“What? Why?” Darcy protests when Bucky tries to steer her to the window. “Hell no! We’re three floors up, we can’t jump out the window! What the hell is going on?”

“Those weren’t Shield agents,” Bucky says tersely, glancing furtively out the window. _Shit_. He turns to Jane. “Is there an emergency exit?”

“Yes,” she nods slowly. “From my office.”

“ _What_ is going on?” Darcy repeats in frustration. Bucky stops.

“They’re still outside in the hall. I heard them. In _Russian_.” Darcy’s eyes widen, and she glances at Jane. “Hydra knows about your involvement with Foster. They know you’re with me. They knew you might try to seek out your mentor.”

“Christ,” Darcy whispers, then looks around the room. “We—we need to go—”

Jane leads them to her office, unlocking the emergency exit door and glancing outside. Before they can reach for the door, Jane stops them. “Wait,” she holds up her hand. Quickly, she rummages through her desk drawers before pulling out a phone. “It’s my old work phone. I know you know how to jail break it, Darcy, so just do that. This,” she hands Darcy a rectangular device, “was our old laptop from Puente Antiguo that we used when Shield confiscated everything else. It’s secure. You two need to get the hell out of here.”

“That’s what we’re trying to do,” Bucky says tersely.

Jane shakes her head. “No. I mean _out_. Get out of England. This place is crawling with Hydra, and Shield is after you too, Bucky, so you really can’t be seen in public. Get back to the States and go to the Stark Tower—they’ll all be there,” Jane gives Bucky a hard look when he makes a scoffing noise, “and Darcy being by your side will end this once and for all. It’s the _only_ place Hydra can’t get to you.” She looks directly at Bucky, and he swallows at the merciless look in her eye. “You keep her _safe_.”

Bucky blinks, then nods curtly. Something twists in his gut when he glances down at Darcy, who for all the world looks both terrified and ready to fight.

“Do you have money?”

Bucky shifts. “I have enough.”

“Good.” She looks at Darcy, then, and hugs her tight. “Now go.”

“Okay wait,” Darcy shakes her head. “You’re in danger too, Jane, you need to come with us.”

Bucky nods. “She’s right. You’re not safe with Hydra here.”

“They can hang,” Jane says sharply. “I have nothing to be afraid of and they have nothing on me. It’s going to look suspicious if I disappear too. _Go_.”

Darcy glances down at her three bags, and Bucky feels something heavy press against his chest when she carefully puts them down and empties out the smallest bag, shoving her wallet, the phone, and the laptop inside. She slings it over her shoulder and glances at Jane. “I—I guess getting a degree in three years isn’t in the works for me.” Jane looks at Darcy, absolutely stricken. Darcy’s lower lip trembles before she clamps her hands against her sides, breathing in deeply. Darcy looks up at Bucky. “Let’s go.”

Somewhere between escaping the building, ducking across the campus, and boarding a train to Dorset, Darcy’s hand finds its way into Bucky’s. She stares at him as the train crosses plains that stretch for miles, the falling sun lighting her hair like honey and earth.

“How do we get to the States?” she asks him curiously, her voice just loud enough to hear it over the train’s bustling. “We don’t have passports.”

Bucky exhales slowly. “Well,” he says heavily, “you’re gonna be the first Lewis on a boat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how I'm putting out chapters on a regular basis, but I'm not complaining. Thank you SO much for the overwhelming feedback you all have given on this fic! It inspires me so much that you're so excited about this story as I am! This fic is officially in Civil War territory now, as in parts of the movie will still be included but obviously will need to be adjusted, given what's happened.
> 
> Let me know what you thought of this chapter! xx


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy and Bucky escape, in a rather unexpected way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about ships beyond what I saw in Titanic. I should say the same about English towns. May or may not have made up some nifty gadgetry to suit their needs as well. That's about all the sin in this chapter.

**-:-**

**“And if any person will meddle of my cause, I require them to judge the best.”**

-Anne Boleyn

**-:-**

** Chapter 4 **

The girl snores. A lot.

He pegs it to the awkward position in which she sleeps; head bent against her own shoulder, elbow resting against the tiny ledge afforded by the window. That, and the knowledge that she hardly slept the night before.

A twinge of guilt blooms in his chest. In two days he upended a young girl’s life entirely. He did this.

Just another thing to add to the list of shit he wishes he wasn’t responsible for.

Not all of it is because of him, though. He can see that. The encounter with the astrophysicist proves there are larger forces at work that scale beyond Bucky Barnes’s involvement. Hydra has known of Lewis and Foster for quite some time.

Bucky’s mouth slopes in a worried line. He still doesn’t feel right for leaving Foster alone in the lab. Hydra was literally prowling the building searching for any sign of him or Darcy. He hopes he hasn’t cost the young scientist her life in his hurry to escape.

His eyes snap to Darcy when she stirs. Bleary eyes blink, staring at nothing for a moment, before squinting and rubbing her eyes. She glances out the window and frowns when she’s met with waning sunset. They’ve been on the train for hours.

“You know,” she says, her voice still light from sleep, “when I boarded this train, I had expected it to be more private. You know, compartments with sliding doors. A little old lady walking down the aisle with a trolley full of food, asking if we want juice.” A quiet sigh escapes her. “At least it’s raining.”

He turns away and thinks of his last memory of being on a train. Snow, and pain. That’s all he ever seems to know.

In the months since he left Hydra—left the world—bits of memory of a past life were few and far between. They came like memories of looking at an old photograph; unclear, unreliable. When something is a little clearer, he writes it in his journal.

He remembers a scrawny kid holding up his fists in an alley. He remembers sitting in a trench that smelled of piss. He remembers pain—the strongest memory of them all.

“So what’s the plan once we reach Dorset?” Darcy’s question prompts him out of this thoughts.

He shrugs. “We go on.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “Obviously. I meant step-by-step. Can’t just dive headfirst without a plan, man.”

Bucky glances outside, watching droplets of water slide down the window. The sun is almost completely gone. “Same way I got in this country.”

He watches her processes this. Her eyes go round.

“Freighter?” Darcy whispers frantically. “ _Freighter?_ ” He stares impassively. “No. _No._ ”

“You say that a lot.”

“Because your plans suck!” Darcy hisses, a real look of panic settling over her face. Bucky notes this, watching her eyes flicker around for a solution. She dives to the bag settled by her feet, zipping it open and pulling out the laptop Jane Foster had given her. She fiddles with it for a while, staring at the screen hopefully. She mutters a quiet ‘thank god’, and Bucky’s eyes narrow.

“What?”

Darcy peers at him over her glasses, looking bemused. “Finding a better solution. Freighter,” she snorts, shaking her head. “It’s a week-long trip, isn’t it? By boat? How’d you…” her eyes flicker over him, and he forces himself not to shift under her gaze. “Eat?”

Bucky shrugs again. “I did what I had to.” When she continues to stare, he says, “Food was not a top priority.”

“Not a…well you tied yourself down with the wrong girl, then,” Darcy sticks her chin out and shakes her head, incredulous. “I’m not living off of, I don’t know—sea urchins and salt water for a week. We’re doing this the right way.”

Bucky scowls. “Do you really think I ate sea urchins and salt water?”

Darcy shrugs, not looking up from the screen. “I guess I’ll only know if you tell me. Which I don’t think—aha!” Bucky starts when she cheers, glancing around at the other passengers and hoping the sound of the pounding rain and the train rails muffles their conversation. Darcy jumps up from her seat and plops down next to him. Bucky stiffens when he feels the press of her arm against his, warm and pliant against his mechanical bicep. She hands him the laptop, distracting him from the sensation, and he looks at the screen with a small frown.

She’s practically bouncing, a wide grin spread on her lips. “Think of it, just think—sparkling cider, cocktail shrimp, French doors opening to a huge ballroom—this shit is right up your alley, isn’t it? They always market the vintage appeal of these things.”

“We’re fleeing the country, not going on vacation,” Bucky reminds, but his resistance starts to waver when she taps her finger on the pad and pulls up an image of a vast, bustling kitchen.

“I don’t know,” he says grudgingly. “We still have no ID.”

“Hey, I don’t know if I told you this, but I’m kind of good at tinkering with a passable fake ID. Not passport-level, but enough to ward off anyone who tries asking who we are once we’re there.”

Her eyes are wide with hope, and he wishes he didn’t have to say this. “We can’t afford it, Darcy. I know I told Foster I have money, but…”

“Whoa, whoa, dude,” Darcy lifts the laptop from his knee and closes it, peering up at him. “We’re not…” she shifts her eyes, making sure nobody was listening over them. She leans closer, whispering conspiratorially, “we’re still doing the sneaking-onboard business, just like we would have with a freighter. We’re just gonna do it in style so that we won’t be dehydrated and smelling like fish guts. Come on,” she look at him imploringly. “You have to admit it. This can really, really work. We’re a tag-team now, okay? We’ll work with our best abilities. I can do the technical stuff, you do the espionage and breaking-in thing. This can _work_.”

Bucky glances back at the laptop, now closed over Darcy’s lap. “When does it leave?”

“Tomorrow at exactly eleven o’clock in the morning,” Darcy says quickly, searching his eyes. Bucky bites the side of his lip, thinking hard. “More than enough time to do a sweep and an entry plan,” she adds hopefully.

Darcy’s questioning frown turns into a full, glowing grin when he nods slowly. “Alright,” Bucky agrees, fighting the twitch of his lips when she closes her eyes in relief, an excited smile still in place. “But this means no breaks once we get off this train,” he warns. “Our best bet of being unnoticed is if we slip in before passengers start boarding in the morning.”

“Sounds good, sounds good,” Darcy nods along, and he suspects she’d stopped listening to him the moment the word ‘alright’ came from Bucky. He sighs.

**-:-**

When they reach Weymouth they are both exhausted. Darcy spent the rest of the train ride doing something on the laptop, much to Bucky’s confusion. Every time he tried to ask her what she was doing, he was met with a distracted wave of her hand and a mumble under her breath that even he couldn’t quite decipher.

Darcy turns to him once they leave the station. “We need to divide and conquer.”

At his raised brow, she elaborates. “So, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we have like no clothes. Or supplies. Or anything, really. Except a laptop, a phone, and your bag of weapons—wait,” she looks at him suspiciously, “did _you_ bring supplies?”

Bucky shrugs. “Some things. Enough to get by.”

Darcy sighs. “Fine, then. _I_ need supplies.”

Bucky furrows his brow. “You can share my things.”

Darcy gives a wan smile. “As much as I appreciate that—thank you, honestly—I won’t survive in your shirt and pajama for a whole week. And we should probably pick up some emergency stuff, just in case.”

Bucky nods. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Darcy agrees, relaxing a bit. Did she think he would be against her getting supplies? The thought is put on hold when she continues, “So I’m thinking, you scope out the cruise ship, and I’ll get some stuff for the both of us? We’ll meet back here in an hour?”

Bucky nods. When she doesn’t move, he glances back at her. Her fingers tangle and detangle with themselves, and a frown pinches against her face. She’s not meeting his eyes but huffs quietly to herself and glances at the sky, as if trying to bring the words to her mouth but failing.

He understands.

Wordlessly, Bucky reaches into his pack. He holds out for her hand, and she mutters, “I’m sorry. I only have credit and—”

“It’s nothing,” he says firmly, placing a small roll of money in her palm and closing her fingers on them.

“I’ll pay you back,” Darcy insists, a promise written in the way she looks at him.

“Don’t.”

“I’m going to.”

Bucky doesn’t reply. Instead he looks west, to where the docks surely are, the sound of a distant horn already making itself known. “And the cruise? And the food we’ll take?”

Darcy bristles as she stuffs the money in her pocket. “I’ll pay that back too, eventually!”

Bucky smirks, shaking his head. “One hour.” He pauses. “Do you have your taser on you?”

Darcy pats her pocket, a winning smile in place. “Don’t even worry about that, dude. Any sketchy shadow’s gonna get seventy volts of pure electricity in its ass.”

**-:-**

Darcy isn’t too blasé to not notice the stares she gets when she drops the small bit of clothes on the counter. She already got some bits of toiletries and food that can be jammed inside pockets, holding it stiffly in her left hand. She notices the raised brow when she pays in cash, notices the strange look when she yanks off the tag of the cardigan she just purchased and wraps it around herself.

“Have a nice day,” the retailer smiles thinly. Darcy smiles back as she rips a few more tags off.

Stepping outside, Darcy sighs in relief. “Finally,” she mutters, “I don’t have to be mildly cold all the time.”

Her eyes dart around as she makes her way back to where she and Bucky agreed to rendezvous. So far nobody was trying to follow her, let alone glance at her twice for that matter. She hoped the same for Bucky.

Bucky. In the last twenty-four hours it’s been nothing but running, shivering, sweating, and sleeping when she could, all because the lumberjack in a baseball cap liked to watch her study in a bubble tea shop.

There are so many things she wants to say, questions that itch to spill from her lips. But she knows it is wrong, that he’s not ready for that, that he’s already balancing on a fine precipice between keeping his shit together and falling apart. She sees it every time he thinks she’s not looking—the exhaustion that huddles beneath his eyes in vague purple bags, the clenching and unclenching of his left hand, the way his eyes dart back and forth in a neverending dance of wariness and weariness.

When she first woke up on the train she remembers a flash of something else on his face, right before he could school his expression back to neutral. He’d been looking at her, looking with…regret? As if her being there with him made him ashamed. It twisted her heart at the time, and she feels the familiar pang again just thinking about it.

She hopes they make it to New York. She hopes they pull this off together without too many bumps down the line. She hopes, with more feeling than she thought she’d have, that Bucky finds what he’s looking for. And more than anything, that he finds help. Darcy knows enough that she will not be able to help him in the way he needs.

She stands at the meeting spot for less than half a minute before Bucky emerges from the shadows. There’s a hard look about him, and he seems to be favoring his left side a bit.

Darcy’s eyes widen a bit. “Whoa. You okay?” Bucky nods sharply. “Okay…” Darcy glances around him, then back to his face. “Are we in the clear? Did you find a way in?” He opens his mouth, then stops. He’s glaring at the group of people striding past them, and Bucky shifts closer to the end of the sidewalk.

Darcy’s eyes dart to the nearby shops. “Look, there’s a café across the street. Looks just the right amount of busy for us to talk.”

Bucky stares at it for a moment before nodding. They walk briskly across the street, hands stuffed in their pockets. Darcy makes to reach for the door but Bucky beats her to it, holding it open for her. Darcy tucks her head down and thanks him, stepping inside. She suspects it’s less of a ‘chivalry isn’t dead’ thing and more of a ‘this is how it was done’ thing.

Immediately she’s hit with the warm scent of cinnamon and coffee beans, and her stomach lets out a loud, undignified growl. She clutches her belly self-consciously, giving a sheepish smile to Bucky.

Darcy’s smile stills when he scowls at her. “Uh, sorry?”

Bucky shakes his head. “I should be apologizing. You haven’t eaten all day, because of me.”

Darcy shrugs. “Neither have you. It’s been a pretty busy day for the both of us. We can eat here while we talk about, you know.”

He does know. Darcy orders for herself and hands over the bills she had left from her shopping, and Bucky’s glaring at the menu like it’s written in Russian.

Darcy fights a snort. Maybe not quite Russian, considering.

“I can pick out some good stuff for you, if you want,” Darcy offers. Bucky glances at her, and gives a little nod. “Coffee, black,” is all he says.

Darcy looks back at the barista and adds, “The caprese sandwich and a blueberry scone. Thanks.”

Bucky doesn’t say a word until they’re settled on a table with their food and coffee splayed out in front of them. They take a few quiet moments to savor it, chewing slowly, with Darcy taking the occasional sip of her latte.

Bucky’s already devoured the sandwich in a record three minutes, finishing it off with a generous swig of coffee. He notices Darcy’s attention on him and slows, a little pink rising on his cheeks.

“It’s good, right?” she says brightly, taking a large bite out of her own scone. “Yeah, the cafés around here are pretty good. New Mexico has some great diners, but where I lived there weren’t that many good coffee shops with overpriced pastries.” She licks her lips of the sugar from her scone. "I made us some digital IDs, by the way. Hacked into a basic search system and those files will show up to anyone on board that might ask."

Bucky nods. He reaches down to his pack, which now rests against the table, and Darcy feels a rolled paper being pressed into her hands underneath the table. Looking at him in surprise, Darcy shifts back a little to unfurl it over her lap.

Her eyes widen, and she glances up at Bucky in amazement. “You got the blueprints of the cruise ship? The very luxury cruise ship we’ll be infiltrating tonight?” Darcy can only stare as he nods. “Holy fuck. You’re…really, really good.”

Bucky smiles a little, and Darcy decides then and there that she’s going to make an effort to get him to do that more. It’s a good look on him…really good.

Gently she places it on the tabletop and Bucky leans closer, pointing at the blueprint. “See here? This is the entrance to the emergency deck. Lot of life jackets and stuff. We’ll have to be quick because there’s rolling security around the docks and cameras they’ll realize after a while are on loop.” Darcy throws him a questioning look. He shrugs a shoulder. “Part of my gear is an interference channel mixer. It’ll only work for a little bit so we have to be quick.”

“Okay,” Darcy says, staring at the blueprint. “So we—are we going to swim to that part of the ship?”

Bucky nods. “It’s the only way we’ll be undetected. There’s metal rungs all along the ship to climb up, so it’s just a matter of stealth and maneuvering.”

He watches her as Darcy worries her bottom lip. “Hey,” he reaches across the table, just close enough to her hand but not letting himself touch her. “You’ll be fine,” he says earnestly. “Getting inside isn’t the hard part. Finding a room to stay in will be the hard part. Hiding will be hard. Getting food will be hard.”

“Oh trust me, food will _not_ be a problem,” Darcy cracks a smile, and Bucky mirrors it with his own tentative one. “I can be in and out of a kitchen like it’s nobody’s business. We are going to eat _well_ , Bucky Barnes. You have no idea what’s in store for us.”

The smile that had been playing at his lips shrinks, and some small part of him seems to close off. Darcy frowns, backtracking. “What is it? Did I say something? I’m sorry,” she says genuinely, and Bucky shakes his head.

“No, it’s not—” he sighs, looking frustrated with himself, his hand gripping the coffee mug tightly. “It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?” Darcy asks skeptically. She runs back on what she’d said…and then she realizes. “It’s the name, isn’t it?” Bucky peers at her from under his lashes, his mouth doing the lip-biting thing that Darcy gets distracted by for a moment, before blinking and continuing, “I can call you something else, if you want.”

Bucky looks away. “No. Nothing like that.” He take a sip of the coffee, grimacing a little as he sets the mug down. “Guess I’m still getting used to it.”

“To what?” she asks, her voice going soft at the way he’s looking at her. As if searching for something he wishes was there.

“Having a name.”

**-:-**

“We’re lucky it’s the middle of June,” Darcy says dryly, though the look of unease on her face as they stand before the water is a sharp contrast. “At least the water won’t be freezing.”

“It’s nightfall,” Bucky reminds her, kneeling on the sand and glancing up periodically from the contraption in his hand to the cruise ship that is across from them, not far but far enough that they’ll both be tired trying to get there. “It will be cold.”

Darcy throws him a look.

“Aren’t you a bag of sunshine.”

Bucky glances at her. “I’m honest,” he says bluntly. “You’re going to be very cold, and you need to anticipate it if you want to swim to the boat with enough stamina to actually get there in time.”

Darcy bites her lips, frowning as she looks back at the cruise ship. “I know,” she says quietly. “Are you sure this will work?”

He doesn’t answer. He pushes a button, hearing a click, and glances up at the cruise ship again. The lights that illuminate the ship on the inside flicker briefly.

“There,” he breathes, stuffing the device back in his bag and kicking off his shoes and socks. He motions for Darcy to do the same. Hastily putting them in their bags, Bucky turns to her. “Surveillance is down. We have eight minutes. Are you ready?”

Darcy nods sharply, her eyes wide with fright. He notices her trembling, and he places his right hand on her shoulder. “We can do this. Just follow me and stay close. On three.”

Darcy nods again, and they turn to the ocean. Bucky sets his jaw. “One. Two. Three!”

The cold hits them first, enough to knock the wind out of Darcy. She struggles at first but kicks her feet hard and falls in next to Bucky. He checks her from time to time as they swim, bobbing up to the surface every thirty seconds for air.

The cruise ship looms closer. Seven minutes. Their pace is steady, strong. He checks Darcy and feels something close to pride swell inside him at the fierce determination on Darcy’s face. Six minutes. He can hear vague shouting from the ship. They’re close. Five and a half minutes. Bucky stops and pulls to the surface, sucking in a breath. Darcy follows him up, taking a gasping breath. Bucky places his finger on his lips, urging her to quiet. She nods, pinching her fingers against her nose. He glances up and sees the metal rungs they need to climb up. His eyes dart to the docks and sees no one. Right on schedule.

Five minutes. He starts climbing up. Bucky hears Darcy start her ascent once there’s enough room for her. Bucky unzips a pocket on his pants and fishes out a circular device, then attaches it to the little door where the emergency deck is. He leans back, hanging on the rung with one arm, and doesn’t flinch when he hears a sharp sound emit from it. He detaches the device and stuffs it back in his pocket, then tries the handle. It swings open easily.

Four minutes. He checks inside before swinging a leg inside, then the other. _Threat: none. Surveillance: temporarily impaired. Body count: zero. Sweep complete_. Bucky leans back out the small door and holds out his hand for Darcy. Her hand grabs his and the sensors in his metal arm fire straight to his mind, catching the low body temperature and the tremors that rack her body, the decreased aspiration and expiration. Three minutes. Bucky tucks Darcy close to himself, sharing whatever warmth he can give, but she continues to shiver.

“’M fine,” she tells him when he looks at her with concern. “J-just—focus on the next part. Relying on y-you, buddy.”

His jaw sets, and Bucky maneuvers them to the door leading out of the room and into the hallway. Reluctantly he extricates himself from Darcy but keeps a firm hold on her wrist, checking each corner before continuing onward. Two minutes. He finds the door he’s looking for and puts the device on it again. _Crack_. The door glides open. He lets Darcy inside first before closing the door behind him.

“Whoa,” Darcy breathes, her breath coming short as her teeth chatter. “I didn’t think cruise ship would actually carry cars.” She squints. “ _Expensive_ cars!”

“Change, change quickly,” Bucky urges, and Darcy immediate sets about peeling off the wet shirt and pajamas, and he averts his eyes. Bucky sheds his clothes as well, yanking out a dry shirt and pants from his pack. Darcy’s just hopping into a dry pair of pajamas when the timer clicks on his wrist watch. One minute.

“In here,” Bucky reaches for one of the car doors and pulls it open. Darcy hikes up an eyebrow.

“This better not be a _Titanic_ proposal.”

“What?”

“What? Sorry, not the time. In we go.” She gathers her wet clothes from the floor and crawls inside the car, and Bucky climbs in after her. Closing the door quickly, he holds his breath and waits.

The lights dim, then flicker back to life. Bucky sighs, relieved.

“That’s…the surveillance coming back, right?” Darcy asks him.

Bucky nods. “The eight minute window is over.” He sags against the leather seat, feeling suddenly exhausted.

He hears a laugh. Bucky rolls his head to look at Darcy, and she’s smiling at the roof of the car. She looks at him, and for a moment he forgets why he is here, why it was so important to get to this moment, except that he’s immeasurably relieved he is here to witness it.

She’s smiling at him, her eyes not hiding shadows nor motive. _Not like them_ , his mind whispers. _Never like them._

“We did it,” she breathes, an incredulous laugh escaping her again. “Jane would be so proud.”

Bucky wants to say yes, she probably would, for the woman was fierce in her love for her friend, but darkness swirled before his eyes and he succumbs to sleep.

**-:-**

Bucky wakes with a start, his eyes wide and inhaling sharply. He glances through the darkness, struggling to remember why he’s here. _Threat: unknown. Body c—_

His eyes fall on the girl sitting next to him. Her shoulders are drawn back, staring into the darkness. _Darcy Lewis_.

He notices a phone is in her hand, the light glaring up into his eyes. He squints and look at the time. Two-thirty in the morning.

“You’re awake,” she notes. She doesn’t look at him. She looks at the phone again, a quiet sigh escaping her. “My Analytical Physics exam is in six and a half hours.”

Bucky looks at her for a moment, then looks away. His hands curl into fists. Her eyes had been wet.

She chuckles humorlessly. "It's stupid. Of all things to be upset about--almost getting shot and dying, chased under a dumpster, running from Hydra, nearly freezing to death swimming to this ship--and I cry because I'm missing a fucking exam."

“It's something you value. You worked hard for it," Bucky says quietly. He looks to her. "You’ll be back. I promise."

Darcy sighs again. The phone dims, bathing them in darkness again, and Darcy curls into herself and leans against the car door next to her.

“I guess we’ll know in a week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it! This was a bit of a transitory chapter to get the ball moving. Next chapter will have some character expansion, generous fluff, and a visitor from the MCU.
> 
> I should probably add that all these chapters are not beta'd except by myself, so I'll be fixing any and all errors as I find them.
> 
> Thank you for reading! You all are incredible and make this experience so wonderful! Let me know what you thought! xx


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TW:** Emet. No details, but it happens.
> 
> Sin: Prolific use of the word 'fuck' without the desired action ever happening. :(

**-:-**

**"You look quite well for a man that's been 'utterly destroyed', Mr. Spock."**

\- James T. Kirk,  _Star Trek TOS_

**-:-**

** Chapter 5 **

Neither of them sleep well that night. The car seats are stiff, unyielding, and Darcy spends most of the night trying to find a position that won’t leave her neck muscles sore the next morning.

She finds no such luck.

Bucky sits ramrod straight for hours, uncaring of Darcy’s tossing and turning. After the brief twenty minutes he’d dozed earlier, he does not bother sleeping again. When she’d spoken to him last, his face was stricken with trepidation. When she chances a glance at him hours later, she wonders if she’d imagined anything there at all.

Darcy gives up the pretense of sleeping when she hears seagulls crying outside the ship, sitting up with a huff. Bucky turns his head a little, watching her.

“Morning,” Darcy says tiredly. She glances around, mouth curling at the stifling, warm air that surrounds them. “We have to get out of this car, man.”

Wordlessly, Bucky reaches down and unzips his bag. She watches curiously as he unfurls the blueprints he’d stolen last night, pressing it smooth over his lap.

Darcy peers over him to look at it. At the café she didn’t get the chance to pore over it as closely as she would have liked, but now her eyes scour over the papers. “Wait, look,” Darcy points to the far end of the map. “They have open restaurants just outside the main dining room,” Darcy murmurs, squinting. “Holy shit. We don’t have to steal from the kitchens or ninja our way to the dining room to get food! No one will care who’s buying what food in outdoor restaurants.”

Bucky nods slowly, the stiffness of his shoulders loosening slightly. Darcy supposes that’s as close to a relief she’ll ever see in him. “There’s some rooms.” He points on the paper. “They’re unfinished. Under renovation.” At Darcy’s inquisitive look, he elaborates, “No occupants.”

Darcy looks up at him, a smile creeping on her face. “No occupants.” She’s beaming, bouncing a little in excitement. “When do we move in? And how will we get to the room when there’s still the surveillance issue? I don’t think it’s a good idea to use that tech from last night again. Might get suspicious.”

“I checked the cameras when we got here. They’re rotary cameras. Evadable.”

Darcy looks at him skeptically. “Easily evadable for a super soldier with a college student tagging along?”

The smirk that Bucky gives Darcy makes her heart sink.

**-:-**

“Stop squirming,” Bucky hisses.

“I can’t help it,” Darcy hisses back, pressing her knees together uncomfortably. “Drinking coffee and then not peeing all night does this to a person.” Bucky makes a noise, close to a scoff, and Darcy sours. “Let me guess. The Winter Soldier doesn’t pee like most people either. You could hold it in for three days. Bladder of steel.”

Bucky turns away from the tiny window at the top of the door and looks her dead in the eye. Darcy almost wilts under his stare—shit, what is with her and her big mouth lately? Why would she bring up the Winter Soldier around a guy who’s _clearly_ still patching his mind back together—her thoughts halt when he answers, rather coldly, “Only metal on me is the arm, Lewis.”

If she wasn’t looking at him, physically looking him in the eye, she would’ve thought he was being serious. The mirth that shines back at her as he returns his attention to the window makes Darcy crack a smile.

“It’s ‘Lewis’ now? C’mon, my guy. We slept in a motel room and swam the ocean together. I think we’re on first name territory now. And I heard you use it last night so don’t even try to get out of it.”

The corners of Bucky’s mouth twitches. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You should call me Darcy.” Darcy jerks back when Bucky suddenly moves away from the door, and scuttles to follow him. “What? What is it?” she whispers.

“It’s time.” Bucky’s jaw sets and it’s as if a shadow falls over him, squaring his shoulders and tensing the muscles in his body. If there was ever a doubt in Darcy’s mind that this is a man who has killed, who has seventy years of militaristic experience tucked in a belt drenched in blood, it disappears when Bucky produces a gun from his holster and holds out his arms stiffly. She realizes, belatedly, that this is the first time she’s seeing Bucky handling a gun—before it had been a fight of fists and blades and a different kind of precision…but there’d been a rifle, hadn’t there? The night she slept in his room?

“Hey what ever happened to that rifle that first night?” Darcy asks suddenly. “I don’t remember seeing it before…or after…”

“ _Focus_.” Bucky gives her a hard look and Darcy clamps her mouth shut. He has a point. This is serious—and the only reason she isn’t completely melting down over the last two days is _because_ she lets her mouth run instead of her mind. But even then there’s a time and a place. So Jane says.

Jane. A pang flutters in Darcy’s chest.

“Sorry,” Darcy says quietly. “Just—just tell me what to do.”

Bucky indicates to the door. “In a few seconds we’re going to walk out. The route is simple but we have to be fast. You _have_ to follow exactly what I do and stay right behind me. This will not work if you don’t comply,” he says roughly, punctuating every word.

Comply? She should think further on that. But instead Darcy nods numbly, her heart sinking as panic starts creeping inside her. This. Shit. This is going to be. The hardest. Shit. “Okay,” Darcy keeps nodding, swallowing thickly, “Okay, okay yeah. Follow you. I can do that. I’m good at following directions.”

Something cold reflects in Bucky’s gaze but it disappears instantly. Without another word, Bucky glances out the door and then opens it softly.

His hand suddenly reaches for Darcy’s wrist and he walks out. She stays as close to him as possible without bumping into him, letting the metallic fingers on her skin guide her through the corridor. They go left and walk briskly, never stopping, and Darcy can’t help but wonder how the hell Bucky timed this, because each time they crossed a hall the cameras were already shifting away from them; each time a camera turned towards them Bucky found a crevice or corner to tuck them into, holding her so close to himself that she could feel his breath on her lips.

Suddenly they’re moving, fingers digging into Darcy’s skin as they run; Darcy tries to keep her breathing slow and even but if she’s honest with herself the last two days are the most exercise she’s done since she was running for her life huddling puppies under her arms as the Destroyer was…destroying Puente Antiguo. The intern life had kept Darcy on her toes but her life since has been long walks and coffee shops, not running alongside super soldiers.

They’re reaching the last two turns, a right and a left just as the blueprints promised. Darcy feels anticipation building in her and the mixture of relief and anxiety makes Darcy squirm again. Bucky’s fingers tighten on her wrist, as if sensing her restlessness.

They stop in front of a door. Darcy glances up at the corners of the wall—no surveillance. She could almost cry in relief.

Bucky starts backing up, burning a hole with an intense glare at the part of the door that met with the wall near the lock. Darcy realizes what he’s about to do just before he does it and she throws herself against his side, knocking him off balance—in a figurative sense, because holy _fuck_ the man’s center of gravity is rock solid—earning her a grunt and a murderous look.

In retrospect, verbal opposition may have helped more than assaulting a former Hydra assassin.

The second she throws him off-course Bucky has her against the wall, hand on her throat and something cold pressed against the underside of her jaw. Later she’ll realize it’s the gun. Right now she has to speak.

“Are you an idiot?” Her voice is eerily calm. That seems to stop the dark thoughts likely coursing through Bucky’s mind, for he gives her an odd look. Christ, he must be thinking she’s turned against him. Darcy will have none of that. “You’re going to break through a door we worked really hard getting to while _not being noticed?_ ” No response. She tries again, this time letting a little anger leak into her voice. “You think nobody’s gonna notice a broken door? On an unfinished room? Come on! Breaking in isn’t the way! _Focus!_ ”

She throws his words back at him. It gives him pause, and he’s breathing hard. “Then what?” Bucky grinds out.

“We pick the damn lock,” Darcy grunts. Oh hey, double vision. Just the thing she doesn’t need right now. “I need to breathe.”

She’s relieved when the cold barrel of the gun leaves her jaw. Bucky seems to realize what he’s done for he’s backing away from her as if scalded, flexing the metal hand that had just been digging into her neck. “I’m going to get a pick from my bag. Okay?” She waits until Bucky jerks his head in a nod. Darcy immediately digs into her pack and pulls out a metal rod, then runs a hand through her hair and pulls out a pin.

“Lucky for us, these are standard issue locks. None of that room-key security nonsense is installed down this hall yet. _That_ would’ve taken a little longer for me to break through.” Darcy wastes no time to kneel in front of the door and starts to pick the lock.

She feels more than sees Bucky shuffling behind her. God, the man has the presence of a live wire. He says nothing as she works on the lock, ignoring the muffled curses she can’t help but blurt out as the pin gets stuck twice. On the third try a definitive _click_ comes from the lock and Darcy turns the doorknob. It swings open easily.

Smiling triumphantly, Darcy hikes her bag higher on her shoulder and darts inside. The room is lighted with the early rays of dawn. She hears Bucky close the door quietly behind him.

Before he could say or do anything else, Darcy throws her bag on the floor and stumbles to the closest room, praying it’s a bathroom—it is—and slams the door promptly behind her.

**-:-**

_She’s afraid of you now_.

Bucky grits his teeth as he does a quick sweep of the room, making sure it is safe and there are no cameras enabled in the room. Just as he predicts, there are none.

Bucky prowls around the room, fingers twitching, feeling caged and looking at every crevice, every possible exit he could burst through in case—in case he needs to. In case he loses control.

Bucky almost laughs. As if he ever had control. As if he’s not already griping with it like threads of silk, slipping through his fingers as water through a stream. He closes his eyes tightly, sinking slowly to the ground and clutching his head.

A flash of Darcy’s terrified eyes as he presses a gun to her jaw flits across his mind. His finger on the trigger. The image of what she might’ve looked like if he’d pulled.

_You’re a monster. You should be dead. Asset compliance is an order. You’re a monster. You’re a monster._

He doesn’t notice the door open. He stiffens when he hears soft footsteps on the hardwood floor and whips his head up from his knees. Darcy stops in her tracks, pointing vaguely at a spot on the floor. “Just getting my bag.” She reaches for it slowly, never breaking their gaze. “You okay there?”

“You should get the hell away from me.” His voice is uneven, quiet. Bucky ducks his head back to his knees where his elbows rest, dropping his head in his hands.

Darcy snorts. “Yeah, I’ll just march down and jump over the ship and swim back to shore. Maybe have tea with some Hydra agents before they kill me. Exactly how I want my day to go.”

Bucky’s eyes snap to hers. “I almost _killed you_ ,” he snarls, feeling a sick level of satisfaction when he sees a shred of fear appear in her eyes. Those eyes harden, though, and she’s walking cautiously towards him.

“I know. You did.”

God. She’s approaching him like he’s a wounded fucking animal. “You don’t have to announce what you’re going to do,” Bucky grunts. “I won’t choke you again.”

She flinches. The shame burns him from the inside out, and when he sees her kneel down next to him he wants nothing more than to shake her, tell her to stay away, that she needs to know how sick he actually is. His eyes dart to her neck and his heart sinks at the angry red splotches forming on her delicate, pale skin.

“Bucky. Look at me.”

She said his name. She’s been careful to avoid it since yesterday.

She also gave an order. Bucky knows how to take orders.

He looks at her. She’s close, but not close enough to make him want to shift away. Her eyes are level with his, making sure she has his full attention.

“It was wrong of me to push you like that. It was wrong to touch you, period.”

At his blank face Darcy leans slightly closer, maintaining eye contact. “It was stupid of me, but it was the only thing I could think of that would stop you from pummeling the door open. I’ll try not to do something like that in the future.”

He hears the words but Bucky can’t reconcile them in his head. “I had a gun to your head.”

“Technically you had it at my jaw,” Darcy cracks a small smile, one he does not reciprocate. The smile drops and she sighs quietly. “I won’t lie, that was terrifying. And I don’t want to experience that ever again.”

“You should stay in a different room,” Bucky looks away from her, glaring at a spot on the wall opposite them.

“Then who’d keep me safe?”

Her mouth twists like she’s making a joke but Bucky can’t think beyond the doubt, the challenge the presents itself before him, sending his mind back to a small place—a forgotten place—where he’s done something like this before. Bucky’s brow furrows. “I am efficient in safety protocol at a hundred meter distance. You would be kept safe.”

Darcy laughs, just a flash of a smile and a row of pearly white teeth, but it shrinks the longer she stares at him. “You’re serious,” Darcy mutters, gazing at him in a rare show of hurt. Bucky struggles to figure out how his promise of protection could have upset her, but comes up short. He files away her mysterious reaction for further inspection, likely when he has his notebook open.

“Look,” she drags him back to the present, giving him a serious stare. It seems off-putting, a look of sobriety when there is usually a smile or…or exhaustion. Fear. He’s seen platitudes now of the young Science Girl. He needs to stop thinking so deeply about the forms her face take when she looks at him. “It’s like I said last night. We’re a tag-team now. I got your back, you got mine. You do the stealthy, warrior stuff and I do the technical, engineer-y stuff. And maybe a little science if necessary. I’m still shaky on the science bit, though, so don’t hold me to that.” She waits for a reaction from him, but he has none to give her. “I’m also not an engineer. I don’t know why I said that. I fixed a toaster once when a Pop Tart got jammed in it. I get really excited about doing things.”

The girl starts rambling and Bucky realizes there’s no way out of this. They will be sequestered together for the duration of the week, and he has nowhere he can go to keep his distance, apart from perhaps the bathroom. Darcy must read the look of resignation on his face for she rolls up on the balls of her feet and stands, stretching her arms above her.

“Okay then! Let’s take a look at our new home…microwave…stove, _nice_ …sofa! A good one, too!” Darcy darts to it and plops down, wiggling around every so often. “This, wow. You should try this. I think we got the platinum package room or something. This thing is _plush_.”

Bucky can’t help but smile a little. Darcy is quick to move past things, not lingering on the heavy atmosphere that was hanging between them just moments ago. She stretches her hand out and makes a grabbing gesture, ushering him to join her. “You should try this! Come on, come on, come _on—”_

Bucky stands and crosses the room to where Darcy sits, and tentatively drops down beside her. She looks at him expectantly, telling him with her eyes that he should adjust himself, move around (he does no such thing). Bucky mutters, “It’s fine.”

Darcy’s mouth parts. “Seriously?” She looks a little affronted. “When’s the last time your gluts sat on something this soft? Don’t answer that. And look, there’s a T.V.!” Darcy points at a black rectangular with a flat, smooth finish. She reaches over at the coffee table by their outstretched feet and picks something up, clicking a red button on its surface, one of many. She frowns.

“Guess it’s not hooked up…” Frown firmly in place, Darcy stands and pads over to the kitchen area. Bucky follows behind her, intrigued as she pokes and prods at the equipment in the room. Her movements become frantic as she skids across into the bathroom again, flicking the switch on and off. “No…no, no, no.” She rounds on Bucky, a glimmer of horror in her eyes. “I was wondering why this was considered an unfinished deck. There’s no electricity.”

Bucky shrugs. Darcy’s eyes bug out. “I can’t tech our way through this ship without the damn electrons on my side! Without it I’m just…a girl wearing silly glasses.”

“There’s running water,” says Bucky. “And food. And a place to sleep. We can bathe. We don’t need electricity.”

Darcy doesn’t respond at first. She bites her lip, and glances around the room again. “Yeah. That’s something, at least.”

**-:-**

Darcy supposes she should find Bucky’s shadowing behind her endearing—and to a magnanimous extent she does—but the moment they reach the bedroom, she feels the air rush out of her lungs.

Darcy bursts into laughter, and Bucky jumps a little next to her. Darcy leaves the bedroom.

He follows her out. Darcy sits on the couch again, pursing her lips as she waits for him to settle down next to her. He hovers a bit first, mindful of their distance and probably of every micro-movement Darcy inadvertently makes. Finally, he sits down.

“I think it’s best if we do it by schedule,” Darcy suggests. “We’ll only be here for seven days, right? Not so bad. I’ll even take one for the team and have three days on the bed instead of four. So tonight you can sleep on the bed, then I’ll sleep on it the next day, and so forth. Good?”

Bucky shakes his head curtly. “Unnecessary. I don’t require enough sleep to warrant the bed. You can have it.”

“What? Everybody needs sleep. And you look like you could use a few hours on a nice bed.”

“Unnecessary.”

Darcy glares. “You know, we’ve been stuck together for almost three days now. You’ve hardly slept at all. That’s not good, man.”

“I’m functional.”

“That’s not the point,” Darcy says impatiently, shifting so she faces him. She doesn’t know why she’s getting so worked up on this, but she can’t stop. “The bare minimum doesn’t cut it, okay? Your body—”

“What would you know about my body?” Bucky growls, shocking Darcy into silence.

Darcy feels her face heating up. She looks away. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Darcy shifts back to how she sat before, facing away from him.

They sit in silence as Darcy’s mind roars with things she would’ve rather said to him, all much more unpleasant after the other. She understands—she really, truly does—that this is not a normal situation, that Bucky is more…well, _more_ , in every sense; that Darcy should level her mind with greater patience, and if the lockpicking incident was any indication, that Darcy needs to remember that Bucky is not just Bucky, and he is the more dangerous than Darcy can ever know.

She remembers the metal digging into her neck and her vision slowly going dark, and seeing darkened eyes staring back at her that were vastly different to the ones she’d been staring into for three days. It was as if there was a disconnect in the few seconds Darcy physically engaged with Bucky, that the movement of his body in that instant was not out of conscious thought but of habit, of custom that was now ingrained in him as a reflex. And the distrust in the way he looked at her then—as if she was no longer Darcy but a new threat, that somehow Darcy had elaborately planned this all to the last moment, feigning all of their interactions and her personal life to reach that moment where she could disarm him. The stare he gave her was of intent. Darcy hopes to never see that look directed at her again.

And just as quickly, her irritation melts from her body. This is ridiculous, even for Darcy. Was she really trying to go up against a ninety-year-old super soldier? What could she possibly gain out of it other than a short-lived sense of victory? And how victorious would it actually be, considering he’d spent the last half-hour looking like a kicked puppy every time she looked his way, and she could almost _feel_ the guilt rolling off of him in waves?

“I’m sorry.”

“This is stupid.”

They pause, staring at each other in surprise. Well damn. The man was sorry. Darcy smiles. “If this is how our arguments are gonna go, I think we’ll get along real well.”

Bucky gives her the world’s smallest smile. “I guess.”

Darcy sighs, twisting her fingers together out of nervousness. “Look, I’m sorry for sticking my nose in your business. It’s your business and your life. The last thing you need is another person telling you what to do, am I right?”

Bucky shifts his eyes away uncomfortably, his jaw clamping down. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Darcy nods. “I just—it’s hard for me to see these things and not say anything. I grew up not really having a lot, and didn’t have a bed for the first twelve years of my life. Yeah, I’ll tell you that story later,” Darcy assures when Bucky gives her an incredulous look. “And when I finally got around to affording stuff, seeing people not…I don’t know…getting what they deserve makes me into a bit of a hen. It’s what I did a lot when I was Jane’s intern. I like…I dunno…don’t give me that look! I just like taking care of people, okay?” At Bucky’s intrigued stare, Darcy lowers her gaze and fiddles with the thread on the sofa pillow. “So yeah. I’ll stop the mother-henning for now.” Bucky’s smiling now. Shit. That’s an actual smile—he’s grinning. Holy shit? The history books did _not_ provide enough pictures on how good a smile looks on Bucky Barnes’s face. “Yeah, laugh it up,” Darcy sighs as she melts into the sofa, pressing her fingers against her eyes. “Just ‘cause I’m promising to lay off doesn’t mean I won’t kick your ass.”

Bucky nods solemnly, making Darcy laugh. He gives her a serious look. “I didn’t…mean to snap at you.” He glances away, looking tense and somber. “Just not used to people caring about what I do.” Quietly, almost unwillingly, he says, “I think…I won’t mind if you do.”

Bucky meets her eyes. Darcy stares at him for a long moment. Something new is blooming in her chest, making it difficult for her to sort her thoughts. Something that should not be blooming.

They jolt together when the ship starts to move.

**-:-**

The girl is green.

“Oh no,” she moans, clutching her stomach. It’s only been a few minutes, but it is enough that even Bucky feels uneasy at the speed of the ship and the sound of water splaying beyond the metal wall where the window is.

“Dramamine,” Darcy mumbles, gesturing at her bag which lies forgotten next to the front door. “Medicine. Please.”

Bucky jumps to his feet and goes to pick up her bag. His brow furrows as he struggles to sift through the clothes and bits of food, walking briskly back to where Darcy has her head between her knees. Bucky makes a noise of frustration when he doesn’t find it. Without preamble, he upends the bag and pours its contents onto the floor.

“In the bottle,” Darcy mutters, and lifts her face away from her knees to help him look through her things—her hand barely brushes against them before jerking away to press it over her mouth, letting out a muffled sound.

She bolts to the bathroom.

Bucky finds the bottle at last, reading the label. _Dramamine._ Bucky’s eyes snap up to the bathroom when he hears Darcy heaving. In an instant he’s crossing the floor and pushing the door that is already half-open, and setting the bottle on the sink counter.

He kneels down next to her, watching her carefully. Her body trembles, her hands shaking as they clutch the porcelain rim of the toilet. She closes her eyes tightly. “Go away.”

She heaves again. Bucky reaches over and grabs her hair in a fist and pulls it away from her face. His other hand goes to her back, sliding it down slowly before sweeping across her side to press against her shivering belly, rubbing it softly.

She moans weakly. Nothing comes up again. Bucky’s hand leaves her stomach and reaches over to push the lever. Darcy moves away from the toilet and leans against the sink cabinet.

“I found your medicine,” Bucky says.

Darcy grunts. Bucky holds out his hands. For a second she looks like she’ll pull away, but the moment passes and she places her trembling hands in his. He helps her up, steadying her when the ship tips to the left and she nearly careens towards the toilet. He holds her firmly, guiding her to the sink. She takes it from there, turning on the faucet and rinsing her mouth. She looks around for a second before grabbing a small bottle next to the sink and pours the liquid inside it into her mouth.

Bucky doesn’t leave until the faucet is off. She looks mildly annoyed at this but takes his arm anyway when he holds it out. When he bypasses the sofa for the bedroom, Darcy protests. “I’m fine, I can sit in the living room.”

Bucky doesn’t reply. She glares fiercely when he shoves a water bottle in her hand and the Dramamine bottle in the other. He crosses his arms, watching her toss a pill into her mouth and down it with water. She sets them on the nightstand.

“Stay.” Bucky gives her a hard look, then walks out the bedroom. He files away the look of shock for better days.

When he comes back she’s still sitting exactly where he left her, wearing the same look of consternation. He holds out a nutrition bar.

Darcy glances at it without taking it. She looks back up at him. “That’s yours.”

Bucky nods.

“It’s yours. I can’t take that.”

“I’m offering it.”

“I’m fine.”

They glare at each other. When the ship rocks again, Darcy’s annoyed look melts into a queasy one again, involuntarily pressing her hand against her stomach. Bucky waves the nutrition bar a little, and she grabs it.

Bucky sits next to her on the bed, watching her take a bite, then another, until she’s finished half of it. She rolls the plastic covering over it and sets it on the nightstand next to the water and medicine. “That’s all I can manage,” she says a little defensively, and Bucky nods. “I’m fine,” she repeats. “The hovering is appreciated, though. It was nice.”

“Rest,” he says, and starts pulling at the covers beneath them.

Darcy’s jaw drops. “Dude, seriously, you don’t—” she pauses when the ships rocks again, “—don’t have to do this.”

Bucky stops his movements. He looks at her seriously, his voice soft but firm. “We’re a team.”

Darcy stares. Something flickers across her face, and she’s biting her lip. Hiding a smile.

When she tucks herself in, Darcy replies, “You are _so_ gonna get the full Darcy Lewis experience now. Just you _wait_.”

**-:-**

The Dramamine knocks Darcy out for three hours. By the time she wakes she feels significantly better, albeit sleepy. She even finishes the rest of the nutrition bar Bucky gave her.

Bucky’s admission of them being a team, well. It gave her feelings. Nice, pleasant feelings. She’d had an intrusive thought moment where her mind projected an image of her throwing her arms around Bucky, but Darcy’s aversion to being annihilated by a metal arm stopped the thought where it started. But damn if he doesn’t stir some— _feeling_ in her.

A feeling Darcy decides she must, for her own self-preservation and sanity, never try to understand or explore. Because _mission_ and _Hydra_ and _Avengers_ , all of which, if not properly dealt with, will leave her that much farther from her having a pulse and a degree in Physics.

Physics. Darcy glances out the window. It looks to be around midday. Her exam had come and gone.

Sighing, Darcy slips out of the bed and pads over to the door. Bucky had closed it for her. She opens it quietly, padding into the living room where Bucky sits on the sofa, staring at the front door with a tired but alert demeanor. He glances at her briefly when she sits down next to him. At his questioning look, Darcy says, “Feeling much better. Thanks, for earlier.”

Bucky smiles. Darcy continues, “Though, I don’t know how I’ll be eating this every day. It makes me super drowsy and I definitely don’t want to be taking this during the day.”

Bucky nods. Darcy glances down and a grin splits across her face. “You put my stuff back in the bag!”

He shrugs. “Was my fault it was on the floor in the first place.”

“True. Technically that was only because I was too nauseous to go get it myself. So really, the one to blame is my stomach.”

Bucky snorts softly, looking away. Darcy stares at him for a bit, her eyes tracing over the tightness around his eyes and the purple hue underneath them. She also notices the gun in his left hand. She swallows thickly, her heartbeat spiking for a moment, before she forces herself to breathe evenly.

“I don’t think anyone’s gonna come here,” Darcy says. Bucky gives her an odd look. “You don’t need that right now.”

He glances down at the gun and stiffens. He switches it over to his right hand, out of her sight. “Bucky,” she says carefully. He doesn’t look at her. “We’re fine. We pulled it off. Please,” her voice lowers, “just rest. Just a little.”

He doesn’t meet her eyes, doesn’t make any indication that he listened to her. She almost gives up when she hears Bucky say very, very lowly, “It gives me control.”

Darcy tries not to let the surprise show on her face. She breathes evenly, in and out, before she replies, “Against them?”

Bucky nods his head, looking everywhere but her, as if pulling together pieces of fragmented memory, fighting to find the right words. “They could never disarm me. Had to make me compliant first. If there was a gun in my hand…they couldn’t stop me. Not without three teams.”

Darcy doesn’t know what to say. Bucky seems to be lost in thought, staring into the distance as if watching the memories play before him. “I think…they were frustrated. Always frustrated. Always wiped. Always iced. I kept remembering.” His lips twist into a bitter smile. “Seventy years of ice and pain and they couldn’t erase me. I would always remember.”

“That says a lot more about you than about them,” Darcy replies quietly, her voice hoarse. He looks at her then, his eyes flickering down to her throat.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.” He looks at his gun. “I’m sorry about almost shooting you.”

“I forgive you.”

Bucky shakes his head, looking disgusted with himself. “You shouldn’t.”

“But I do. That’s me taking control of my life.” Bucky looks at Darcy uncertainly. She sticks her chin up. “That doesn’t mean I wasn’t terrified. I’m not naïve; I know what could have happened. But I also know why you did it. You’re not to blame for relying on your instinct to survive.”

“Then who is?” Bucky retorts.

“The fuckers who did this to you,” Darcy says angrily. “The ones who tried to kill me the night you saved me. The reason we’re even on this metal box of death. Bucky,” she shakes her head, breath coming short, “you deserve the entire fucking universe. And a signed and notarized apology from whatever god is out there. But since that won’t happen, you do what makes you happy—or whatever comes close to it.” She pauses. “You know what? Forget what I said earlier, what do I know—keep that gun. Stay awake. Do what makes you get up in the morning, honestly you don’t have to listen to what I say or anyone else, do what _you_ want.”

Bucky looks at her with an unreadable expression, gun forgotten, staring at her as if she is the entirety of the universe itself. Darcy ducks her head, feeling like she’s said too much and once again put her foot in her mouth, but he continues to watch her.

“Darcy,” Bucky says, his eyes wide, “will you…will you help me remember who I am?”

Darcy startles. That is not at all where she thought he would go with this. Words. He’s staring at her looking anxious and she needs to remember how words work. “Yes. _Yes._ Holy shit.”

The tension in Bucky’s shoulders relaxes a bit. Darcy blinks, looking around the room in search of her laptop, then turns back to him. “I can—Bucky, I can do that. I can so freaking do that. I told you about the internet, right? Well, some months back when Shield fell and chaos ensued—around the time you, uh, came about—a whole bunch of data and files were released on public domain. And though there’s not a lot of it on you, there’s enough to start. After that…” Darcy shrugs. “I can program my way through. I’ll try.”

Bucky nods fervently, looking just as overwhelmed as Darcy feels. They sit awkwardly for a while, unsure of what to say or do next. Darcy presses her lips together in a thin line. “When you were in Oxford, you were trying to do this, right? Trying to find stuff about who you are?”

Reluctantly, Bucky nods. “I didn’t find much. But…but the plan was to go to Romania next. Heard there was intel there that…would tell me who I am.”

Darcy clicks her tongue in annoyance. “Until the bubble tea thing happened and the ship to America and being blamed for killing the king of Wakanda. What is _with_ that, by the way? They showed a photo of you on the T.V. and honestly, it looks a lot like you. Whoever set you up tried really hard to make it look convincing enough to frame you.”

Bucky lets out a tired sigh, leaning against the sofa with his full weight. “Someone’s always after me, doll. I’m just so goddamn irresistible to these people.”

Darcy lets out a little laugh, unable to stop the beaming smile. Bucky gives her a funny look. “What?”

“You called me doll,” Darcy grins teasingly. Her cheeks pinken a little, because honestly it sounded really good coming from him and Darcy is only human. “And your accent changed a bit. It was kind of hot.”

Bucky gives her an incredulous look before his neck starts turning red. Slowly he cracks a smile, and Darcy’s grin widens. “Oh man, you smiled like four times today. I’m on a winning streak. This is amazing. And you called me doll. I feel, like, really classy now. Like a _lady_.”

“What accent did I have?” Bucky asks curiously.

“Oh, dead-on Brooklyn. I couldn’t miss it if I wanted to. My Uncle Joey’s from Brooklyn and I loved hearing it growing up as a kid.”

A tentative smile spreads on Bucky’s lips, staring down at his lap in wonder. “Yeah, I…grew up in Brooklyn…before I was drafted. And…” he shakes his head, the smile turning into a little frown.

Darcy reaches over to pat him on the shoulder but stops, curling her fingers into the sofa cushion instead. “Hey, baby steps, right? So I got myself a Brooklyn boy. And now I’m a good and proper lady too. I think this is cause for celebration.”

The look of frustration reverts back to a lighter one, and Bucky gives her a little smile again; this time it’s teasing. “I don’t think anything would make you a good and proper lady.”

Darcy scoffs indignantly. “I am offended. Incredibly. That Darcy Lewis experience I promised you earlier? Revoked. Utterly.”

“Utterly?”

“And completely. It’s your loss, buddy. You don’t even know what you had.”

“Damn,” Bucky says heavily. “Guess I’ll have to make up for it then, doll.”

Darcy bites her lip. Bucky shakes his head, smiling disbelievingly. “You really do like it when I call you that. You’re blushing again.”

Darcy makes a face, and if possible, blushes even harder. “It’s cute, damn it. I don’t get called nice things like that often without some ulterior motive to get in my pants. Just let me appreciate it for its innocence and all its worth.”

Something darkens in Bucky’s eyes, no longer teasing. “No fucking manners,” he mutters under his breath. “Was just teasing, Darcy. You’re every bit of a lady as any other gal. If any boy tried to—”

“And _that’s_ where we stop,” Darcy holds up her hands. “I can take care of myself, I promise. I know some tricks beyond tasing, too, so. No need to worry. What we _should_ be worrying about is getting some food. Because I don’t know about you but I’m starving, especially after expunging last night’s scone a few hours ago.”

Bucky nods curtly, all business again. “Plan?”

Darcy nods, smiling. “Plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this one! And for your wonderful response to this story! It's so overwhelming and kind and I can't thank you enough. You're all wonderful. 
> 
> And I'm not saying that Darcy's Uncle Joey looks a lot like Joey Tribbiani. But he looks a lot like a Tribbiani.
> 
> All mistakes are my own, will try to find and fix them if I catch them. Please let me know what you thought of this chapter! xxx


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sin: I know nothing about coding or power generators, ye be warned.

**-:-**

**“If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.”**

The Hobbit, _J.R.R. Tolkien_

**-:-**

** Chapter 6 **

Logically speaking, they should have adhered to the plan.

Logically speaking, though, Bucky should not be on a cruise ship—but the cards fall where they may, so Bucky thinks perhaps logic isn’t always part of the plan.

“Cheese tartlets, Bucky,” Darcy nearly whimpers. She’s clutching her little bag to herself, already bulging with the amount of food she’s stuffed inside. “ _Cheese. Tartlets._ ”

Bucky glances around, standing stiffly beside Darcy as she wordlessly swipes five tartlets and sneaks them inside. “You don’t have to do it this way. The food is already free. We should sit and eat.”

When they snuck into the main dining hall, they were surprised to see an open buffet waiting for them and the rest of the passengers. Darcy had nudged him then, pointing to a welcome poster propped in front of the double doors, indicating that the first day on board provided a complimentary brunch. It had, to say the least, cheered both them and their weary bodies up.

“I know that,” Darcy gives a withering look as she presses the bag protectively against her hip. “But since we didn’t stick to the original plan of bugging the control room first before getting food, we’re taking the goods to go. We’ll have plenty of time to sit and be proper adults later.” Darcy pauses, biting her lip. Then grabs two buttermilk biscuits and tips them inside the bag. “Fuel first. Then control room. Then unlimited roaming to and from our secret suite. Now, what do you want?”

Darcy’s looking up at him expectantly. When Bucky doesn’t move she widens her eyes in emphasis, letting out an impatient growl. Bucky glances quickly at the table, then looks away.

“Blueberries,” Bucky says quietly. Darcy raises an eyebrow. “What? They’re my favorite.”

“Blueberries it is. I call cherries.” With some quick handiwork, Darcy’s tucking two plastic bowls of fruit into the bag, a pleased smile firmly in place. Bucky lightly guides her to the next table, a long row of lunch meats and breads. Bucky’s stomach suddenly let out a pitiful sound.

Darcy glances at Bucky, ears red and staring back at her silently, then slowly to the table. “I wish I’d brought a bigger bag.”

**-:-**

The door to their suite swings open and again, Darcy stumbles through first, chest heaving with the effort of being both stealthy and carrying a bag crammed with food. She drops it from her shoulder and lets it hang loosely in her hand, nodding at Bucky when he throws her a quick look after closing the door.

“In hindsight, I probably didn’t need to bring as much as I did,” Darcy admits a little sheepishly. “Considering we’ll—fingers crossed—have tinkered with the control room by tonight.”

 Bucky shrugs, checking the room again to make sure it wasn’t bugged. “Better than not having enough food.”

“Yikes, that’s true.” Darcy heads to the couch and one by one, starts unloading everything she managed to grab from the buffet, until every inch of the coffee table is covered with food. Bucky settles down next to her when she sits back to take a look at her handiwork.

“So, as you can see, I organized it according to food group,” she points to the left end of the table. “Your fruits, even managed some of that dragonfruit—not much vegetable variety, but there’s carrot and celery sticks, a packet of dip—then the breads, some cashews, the deli meat, _and_ …” she draws out the word as her eyes settle to the very right of the table, licking her lips eagerly. “The pastries.”

Bucky’s fighting a smile through her explanation, and even moreso when he sees the way she eyes the cinnamon buns. Darcy seems to catch herself though, noticing Bucky watching her. “If I didn’t know any better, Lewis, I’d say you have a thing for order.”

Darcy straightens, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t call me Lewis. And you try working for an astrophysicist without going crazy at how disorganized they are.”

Bucky shrugs. Without hesitation, they both dive in.

Darcy can’t help but notice the way Bucky eats; much like he had in the diner, Buck eats quickly, guardedly, as if every bite could be his last. He doesn’t waste time savoring it, but guzzles a whole turkey sandwich in under two minutes.

“Whoa, slow down there Cookie Monster,” Darcy holds out her hand. “It’ll all still be here. No need to give yourself a stomach ache.”

“That won’t be a problem. I’m finished.”

Darcy blinks. “What, for the rest of the day? That’s all you’re gonna eat?” Bucky nods, confused. “One sandwich? You didn’t even finish the water! You said you liked blueberries, here—” Darcy shoves the plastic container onto his lap. Bucky shakes his head, frustrated.

“I am optimal. I don’t need more.”

Darcy looks at him strangely. “Op…Bucky.” Darcy shakes her head. “Eat as much as you want. Eat until you’re full. Wouldn’t…wouldn’t you _like_ to eat more?”

Bucky considers this seriously. Darcy watches him, careful not to move, as if it would disrupt his thoughts and change his mind.

Several minutes pass and Bucky stays silent. Darcy bites her lip, thinking fast.

“What if we…think of it as a…a victory lunch. That’s fine, right? Successfully getting aboard and to this room safely, a successful mission.”

She watches her words register behind Bucky’s eyes, and he half-nods. Darcy continues, “You can eat as much as you want. Not what’s optimal. As much as you want. ‘Til you’re stuffed. When’s the last time you ate so much you felt like you were going to burst? And then pass out because you ate so much?”

“Haven’t felt that in a long time,” Bucky says quietly, looking distantly across the room. “Wasn’t…wasn’t exactly rich growing up. Army was no different.”

“Good thing this is a luxury cruise, then.”

Bucky glances at Darcy, then slowly, he opens the box of blueberries.

Darcy beams. “You have to try the honeydew melon next.”

Bucky wrinkles his nose. “No thanks.”

Darcy’s eyes bug out. “Seriously?” Bucky shrugs. “You had honeydew melon bubble tea every time I saw you. How can you not like the actual fruit?”

Bucky shrugs again, not meeting her eyes. “I was just trying to understand how _you_ could drink it every day.” He looks at her, an amused glint in his eyes. “Still haven’t worked it out.”

“Oh, _you_ ,” Darcy straightens as she tucks the plate of offending fruit close to her abdomen. “You’re a fucking smart mouth. I should have known.”

**-:-**

Bucky stirs next to her, rubbing his eyes blearily. Darcy glances up from her notes briefly and flashes a smile. “Had a nice nap?”

Bucky scowls in confusion, and Darcy tries not to find it a little adorable. “How long?”

“About four hours.”

Bucky jolts up to sit, startling Darcy. “Relax, it’s only six-thirty. We have a lot of time to disable the video feed of our hallway. Besides, I figured a night operation might be better. Easier to get around the ship.”

Bucky clenches his jaw. “You should’ve woken me up.”

Darcy frowns. “Why? You’ve hardly slept since we met, Bucky.” When he still glares, Darcy adds before turning away, “It was a food coma nap anyway. You couldn’t avoid it.”

“Is that why you wanted me to eat so much?”

Darcy glares at him. “No, I wanted you to eat because just barely starving isn’t a way to live. And you enjoyed the food, don’t try denying it.” Darcy scoots closer to Bucky, showing her the notebook she’d been writing in earlier. “So I’m thinking, instead of an infinite video loop, we remotely switch feeds when we ourselves are coming and going from our room. That way there’s less chance anyone noticing the camera feed is on a loop and we’ll have more control.”

Bucky nods slowly, reading through her notes carefully. “You can do this?”

Darcy shrugs. “If not, we stick with the original plan. But…I’m pretty sure I can do it.”

Bucky gives her a hard look. “You have to believe you can do it.”

Darcy pulls her head back a bit, looking at Bucky oddly. “Um…I do?”

“You always doubt yourself.”

Darcy narrows her eyes. “So? This isn’t exactly easy, you know. I’ve never done this before.”

Bucky shakes his head, looking away from her eyes and back to the notebook. “The easiest missions have failed because the leader doubted himself. You’re excellent with software manipulation. It’s time you accepted it.”

Darcy’s mouth drops open, surprised, but mostly feeling the beginning sparks of anger. “Thanks for the unsolicited advice. I’ll keep it in mind.”

**-:-**

Darcy says nothing as they maneuver down the hallway, nor when they finally sneak into the main control room. She watches the workman at the main computer drift to sleep, one of Bucky’s masks taut over her nose and mouth as gas from Bucky’s sleeper device fills the air.

Bucky taps the side of Darcy’s mask as he pulls his own off, and Darcy follows suit. “Fifteen minutes.”

She gets to work immediately, gently pushing a chair aside where the man is fast asleep, and kneels before the large computer monitor. He watches her put in a flash drive and start typing fast on the keyboard, fingers flying with purpose and precision. Occasionally she sits back and fidgets with her hair, wrapping and unwrapping a strand around her index finger and tugging at it irritatedly.

Bucky sweeps the room a few times, checking the breathing and pulse of the workman. Finally, with nothing else to do, he saunters over to where Darcy is working. Leaning against the table, he glances at the monitor. There’s a page full of code that Darcy is meticulously changing.

“Progress?”

He watches Darcy bite the inside of her cheek, lips pursing. “Happening.”

Bucky quirks a brow. Darcy frowns, leaning closer to the screen. “Motherfucker,” she mutters under her breath, then starts typing quickly. He almost asks what happened, but something stops him.

Suddenly the code disappears and Darcy pulls out the flash drive. Bucky perks up, pushing off the table. “You’re done?”

“Mhm.” Darcy puts the flash drive safely in her pack, then digs out the blueprints. Absently, she hands him a remote. “You can test it out if you want.”

Bucky shoves the remote in his pocket. “I know the way back.”

“I know. That’s not where we’re going.” Darcy stuffs the blueprints back inside and heads to the door.

“This isn’t part of the plan,” Bucky places his hand on the door, stopping her from leaving. Darcy looks up at him angrily.

“I finished eight minutes early. We’re making a pit stop.”

Bucky gives her a questioning look.

Darcy rolls her eyes. “The generator room.”

Bucky furrows his brows, and the word ‘why’ is on the tip of his tongue but Darcy stops him. “Either lead the way or go back to the room.”

Bucky chooses the former. He doesn’t understand why she is behaving this way. He takes note of the stiffness in her shoulders, the short responses, the way she won’t directly look at him.

“Are you angry with me?”

Darcy’s mouth tightens. “Now why would you think that?”

Before he can answer they’re in front of the generator room, and Darcy swings the door open. They both squint at the dim lighting, and Darcy paces around the generators. Bucky follows her slowly.

“They’re going to notice.”

Darcy says nothing, still looking. Bucky forces back a sigh of exasperation. “We discussed this, Darcy. The sensors will catch a division in energy, and they’ll notice that there’s electricity being sent to the unfinished quarters. They’ll definitely notice when only one room is getting electricity.”

“That’s why I’m not using a main generator,” Darcy mutters, suddenly kneeling at a generator. “I’m using a backup.” She finally looks at him, and her expression sours at his doubtful frown. “They have two others. I’m sure they won’t miss one. And they’ll never notice. It’s fine, alright?”

Bucky says nothing. She works quickly, and within a few seconds she’s dusting her jeans and stretching her legs. “All done here.”

“That was fast,” Bucky notes, impressed.

Somehow, though, Darcy interprets this as an insult and gives him a sardonic smile. “Good thing I didn’t doubt myself.” She pushes past him to the door.

He follows her out. “Darcy.” To his relief she stops, turning around to face him. Now that he has her full attention, though, he realizes he doesn’t even know what to say.

“Look, it’s nothing.” Darcy fills the silence for him, fidgeting with the end of her sleeve. “Let’s just go back to the room and forget about it.”

“It’s not nothing.” Bucky looks at her. “You’re angry. We should discuss it. It could compromise—”

“The mission, yeah, I got it the first time,” Darcy snaps. “You know, I get it. I really do. And I’m not even mad. I’m annoyed, but I’m already half over it so can we just? Drop it?” Bucky’s lips part to speak, but Darcy continues, “Like, I know I have confidence issues, alright? I’m always on the brink of giving up and it sucks and I know this already, so having you just confirm how obvious I am wasn’t so great. Especially when you implied I tried making you eat well because I wanted you to fall asleep. Seriously? What would I even accomplish with that? _‘Darcy Lewis: Made the Winter Soldier Rest.’_ ”

Bucky can think of fifty different reasons why someone would try to force Bucky to sleep, one example still snoring quietly at his post in the control room, but he doesn’t voice any of them. In reality, none of them apply to Darcy and he knows it.

“I didn’t…mean it, that way.” Bucky’s voice is low.

Darcy sighs. “I know. Hence the proposal to forget about this.” She stills suddenly, eyes unfocused. Bucky is instantly on alert. But Darcy simply looks up at him, an eyebrow raised. “Wanna go to the roof?”

**-:-**

Darcy doesn’t know why she insisted on this—well, she sort of does, because this is who Darcy is and she’s best at escaping things, especially uncomfortable things, and standing in an empty hallway with an ex-assassin discussing angry feelings was not something she really wanted to linger on. And the best place of escape in any situation is on a roof; it’s what she and Jane did in Puente Antiguo and even in England, before the Dark Elves and things generally going to shit.

It’s where the stars are, high in the night sky, and they bring comfort to Darcy as she leans back and stares at them. Somewhere, maybe, Jane is looking at them too.

Bucky sits awkwardly next to her. They’re sitting on the roof and it’s a little cold, but not enough to make Darcy regret coming up here. Roof, however, is relative—it’s just the highest, flattest part of the ship they could manage to climb up on. Neither care very much about the detail.

“There’s an app on my phone that could tell you exactly what stars are in front of you,” Darcy mentions idly to Bucky. “Like you just point the camera at the sky, and it’ll show you the constellation and all the names and the history of when they were named and stuff. It’s pretty rad.”

“Do you know them just by looking now?” Bucky asks.

“Mm…” Darcy bites her lip, squinting up at the sky. She points above them, her fingers moving in a pattern. “That’s Sagittarius.”

Bucky squints at the sky. He shakes his head. Darcy moves closer to him, arm brushing against his, as she tries pointing in his line of vision. "Follow where I’m pointing. That…that…” She feels Bucky exhale, and he nods.

“I think I see it.”

“Yeah? There’s another to the right—see that pattern?” Bucky follows her gaze, pressing even more into her side. “That’s Scorpius.”

“Huh.” Darcy turns back to Bucky, watching him gaze up at the sky. “I used to look at them a lot. During the war…at night. I remember…” Darcy smiles softly. Bucky swallows, struggling to gather his thoughts. “I…would look at ‘em every clear night. Made me wish I stuck around longer in school. Couldn’t name a single star in the damn sky.”

Darcy nods. “Honestly, I wouldn’t be able to either if I hadn’t worked with Jane. You kind of pick up on it when working with an astrophysicist. I wouldn’t be too hard on myself.”

Bucky says nothing, and they sit in companionable silence. Every so often they hear a shriek of laughter from down below, the soft sound of instrumental music streaming in the air.

Darcy tilts her head when the music suddenly changes. It’s softer, faster, and wholly unfamiliar. But Bucky sits up suddenly, his whole attention on the sounds below them. A slow smile creeps on his face.

“What is it?”

Bucky shakes his head. “That song. I know that song.” He stands up and leans closer over the edge, hand gripping the rail tightly. “Jumpin' at the Woodside,” he breathes, then turns to Darcy with a wry little smile. “I used to dance to this all the time.”

Bucky sits back, the air rushing out of him in a soft sigh. Darcy can sense the agitation rolling off him in waves, can see the thoughts he’s quickly losing himself in, and she turns to him with her feet tucked underneath her.

“Bet you were one of those.”

Bucky turns to her with a raised eyebrow. “Those?”

“You know.” Darcy shrugs, unaffected. “All talk, no game. A little step-step, but nothing too showy.”

Bucky lets out an incredulous snort. “Oh, believe me. I could dance.”

“Of course you could.”

Bucky’s eyes flash with the threat of a challenge. “You wouldn’t last one song with me. Hydra might’ve fucked with my head but nobody forgets how to dance. ‘S like riding a bike.”

“ _Right_.”

Bucky looks at her for only a few seconds longer before holding out his hand. Darcy hikes a brow. And puts her hand in his.

He pulls her to her feet, pulls her close to him, his other hand at her waist. “Might be a bit dangerous up on a roof,” Darcy notes.

“I won’t let you fall,” Bucky says. He adds a small smirk. “Not over the rail, at least.”

Darcy’s plan never really backfires because the plan was never to prove Bucky wrong, but to bait him out of his thoughts. Which he ultimately did do, so it is a challenge won on her part, which Bucky is blissfully unaware of. And if she steps on his feet one or two dozen times, Bucky makes sure she knows it.

What gets her most is the laughing; his eyes actually crinkle with how amused he is at Darcy’s absolute ineptness at dancing, _proper_ dancing. More than once he dips her not because it was for the dipping but because he’s doubling over, laughing into her shoulder. Darcy tries to be huffy and annoyed, she really does—but mostly she laughs with him, shrugging when he asks her, “You don’t know how to dance at all, do you?”

“Dancing’s not so big where I’m from,” Darcy tells him as they head back to their room. Bucky pulls out the remote from his pocket and presses the first button; they hear a click and know that the feedback loop has started, and they can finally walk freely without dodging any cameras. “Not the classic kind, anyway.”

“What kind do you know, then?” Bucky opens the door and holds it out for her, and she steps in side. Darcy shrugs again, pulling off the jacket and pack and dropping them next to her side of the couch.

“Mostly just swaying. And the old bump and grind.” Bucky’s eyebrows rise up, and Darcy grins. “Not like that! Well, essentially that. But it’s okay because it’s a harmless sexy dance. Depends on intent. I only did it like, twice, it’s always a little awkward for me but that’s just me. Maybe one day I’ll show you.” Darcy pauses. “Can you flip on the light switch?”

Bucky nods and reaches over, flicking it on. The room floods with light, and Darcy jumps a little in triumph. “Yes!” she grins excitedly. “I have wifi again, then! We can use the fridge and the toaster!”

Darcy immediately goes for the laptop and turns it on, sinking into the sofa as Bucky triple checks the suite. “I got a few emails…god, this is depressing, seeing my university emails…there’s one from Jane!”

Bucky perks up at this, settling next to her. Darcy chews on her lower lip, both of them reading the email together. Bucky sighs heavily and shifts back to lean against the back rest.

“So the Avengers know I’m missing,” Darcy muses. “This is a thing now.”

“Can’t blame ‘em,” Bucky mutters quietly. “It’ll link with Hydra, all the way back to me.”

“Jane would’ve told them what really happened, then,” Darcy shakes her head. “She wouldn’t let them think you kidnapped me.”

“Words aren’t strong against action, Darcy. It doesn’t help my case that you’re with me, or that Hydra shot at you.”

“Hey.” Darcy reaches to grasp Bucky’s hand but hesitates, remembering how he reacted to unexpected touch. When Bucky looks at her outstretched hand, then back to her without making to move away, Darcy closes the gap and rests her hand against his cybernetic one. “The only thing we have to worry about is getting to New York. You’re with me, now. Nothing bad can _actually_ happen.”

Bucky looks at her dryly. Darcy huffs. “You have no idea the shit I’ve gone through, man. And came out of it all pretty decently unscathed. Some would call that luck. And I can’t help but notice how we’re in a luxury suite all to ourselves right now, and you even kicked my ass at dancing.” At this, Bucky’s lips twitch. “See? Things are looking up already.”

“Being a shit dancer isn’t good luck, doll,” Bucky tells her.

Darcy sighs dreamily. “Keep calling me doll and I’ll believe whatever you say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the absolutely wonderful comments on this fic, you have no idea how much they mean to me and inspire me to keep at it! Sorry for the delayed update; real life adulting is hard.
> 
> The song Bucky refers to in this chapter is called Jumpin at the Woodside by Count Basie. It came out in 1938, as far as the internet tells me, and is a fun little song I've been listening to a lot lately for my Bucky Barnes playlist :) 
> 
> Let me know what you thought! xx
> 
>  **Update:** By popular request, I posted my Bucky Barnes playlist online. You can listen to it [HERE](http://8tracks.com/amidtheflowers/i-got-a-paper-doll/).


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Sin:** No sins this chapter, folks. Just pure goodness. Enjoy :)

**-:-**

**“For that woe is past,' said Galadriel; 'and I would take what joy is here left, untroubled by memory. And maybe there is woe enough yet to come, though still hope may seem bright.”**

**-** The Silmarillion,  _J.R.R. Tolkien_

**-:-**

** Chapter 7 **

She wakes to the sound of the ocean and a lone, distant cry of a seagull.

Darcy stirs, hand automatically coming to her eyes to rub one groggily. Her mouth feels like leather and her muscles are stiff with every slight movement. She winces at the memory of Bucky hauling her around on the roof of the ship during her pitiful attempt at dancing—clearly, she used muscles last night that had been happily dormant until now. She remembers the way Bucky’s eyes crinkled as he laughed while swinging her out, and finds she doesn’t mind the aching muscles at all.

Just thinking about him makes Darcy’s heart clench. Bucky Barnes is rapidly becoming someone Darcy cares for a lot, running from Hydra notwithstanding. She’s only known him for less than a week and the man is still a mystery, but each day he unveils something new, cracks a little and lets her see a part of himself she’s certain he’s never allowed anybody else to see. She doesn’t think he’s been around anyone remotely friendly enough, minus the brief stint with Steve Rogers, to even consider it.

When he started showing up regularly at the _Tea House_ , Darcy’s impression of him had been a wan curiosity, a slight interest in the quiet man who drank bubble tea in deliberate silence and then shortly left, but nothing more than that. She certainly had no idea he’d been coming back each day to catch a glimpse of her—of her _studying_. She’s not sure if she should be flattered by this or curious about his interest in studying.

The second the two assholes had followed her out of the bubble tea shop and Bucky showed up not five seconds later, she knew something would change. Invariably, as most things are where Darcy Lewis is concerned, she was going to be screwed over by this. She likes to think it was out of a sense of selflessness that she bore the grunt of their predicament with stubborn positivity, but it was more on the end of self-preservation. And a piqued curiosity she hasn’t felt since the Dark Elves.

Darcy sighs. Maybe it’s the curse of the Avengers. Or Shield. The second she got a taste of it…after Thor fell from the sky, after Jane absorbed an Infinity Stone and Darcy had run around scrambling to figure out the science of it that was way beyond her league at the time; after Dark Elves threatened their lives and she dodged cars and crossed through wormholes, after Thor’s return and Shield’s departure—after watching what happened in New York while stuck in Tromsø, she knew she would be hooked. The thrum of adventure that sang in her veins as she ran for her life would be a poison she’d crave, and boy was she right. The second Bucky Barnes incapacitated the first Hydra henchmen with his bare hands, Darcy knew she’d found that trouble again. The exact kind of dangerous puzzle that she’s drawn to.

It doesn’t help that the puzzle has crystalline eyes and a pout that never fails to tug at her heartstrings. Or that half of their time together he looked like a wounded puppy that occasionally snarled anything that tried helping it, but would eventually give in anyway. Or how shy the puzzle became whenever Darcy smiles at him. Or—

Darcy huffs out a breath and rolls over, burying her face in the pillow. No, she can’t think about this. She needs to keep the goal in mind. Get to New York. Talk to Tony Stark. Clear Bucky’s name. Go back to England and finish her damned degree.

With this in mind, Darcy throws off the covers and slides out of bed. The suite is quiet, and Darcy hopes Bucky actually took her advice before she went to bed and is sleeping.

She opens the door quietly. She doesn’t see Bucky’s head poking out from the top of the sofa and she stifles a sigh of relief. Darcy pads quietly to the sofa and sees what she hoped for; elbow tucked under his head, Bucky’s eyes are closed. He’s lying on his side, a few strands of hair falling across his jaw.

They say sleep makes someone look younger, less troubled, and Darcy can confirm it with evidence. The frown is gone, the harsh, worried lines across his face now smoothed away. He looks like the Bucky Barnes from the black and white photographs she’s seen in textbooks of a grinning Howling Commando, a caricature of youth immortalized in his history. Darcy tilts her head, leaning a little closer, smiling a little to herself. He is beautiful.

“Can’t see with glasses anymore, Lewis? Need me to get you a magnifier?”

Darcy jumps back, hand flying to her heart when Bucky peels an unimpressed eye open. “What did I say about calling me Lewis?” Darcy says, trying to make her voice firm.

Bucky gives a little smirk. “Darcy, then. Haven’t answered the question, doll.”

Darcy flaps her hand, turning away to head to the bathroom. “Don’t get used to it. There’s nothing wrong with appreciating a nice face. Anyway, I call first dibs on the shower.”

As Darcy closes the bathroom door, she hears Bucky ask, “I have a nice face?” Darcy fights a grin.

**-:-**

He tries ignoring it when she emerges from the bathroom like a steam goddess billowing past him to the bedroom, wrapped in a large towel with a second one wrapped around her hair.

He looks away when, halfway to the room, she hikes a brow and a knowing smile curls on her lips, before closing the door behind her.

The shower helps. The warmth of the water against his skin and the mechanical movements to clean himself stabilizes him, recenters his focus.

But now, with her staring at him with her eyes wide and breath stopped short, Bucky forgets altogether why he’s been trying to ignore it.

Darcy’s eyes rake up his torso and he shifts a little, unused to being watched this way. He shouldn’t have taken so long in the shower. Darcy’s hair is still wet, hanging limply from her shoulders but otherwise she’s dressed and ready for the day. Bucky swallows thickly, eyes twitching down to the loose pants and the towel around his neck to catch the water from the ends of his hair. He’s not _undressed_ , not like how Darcy had come out of the shower, but evidently it is enough to make Darcy stare.

“This is so unfair.”

Bucky flinches, drawing in himself. “I’m…”

He blinks when he feels a soft caress through his hair. Darcy’s frowning, a wistful sigh escaping her. Bucky’s eyes nearly shutter when he feels her fingers run from his roots to the ends of his hair, gliding easily. “We used the same damn soap and your hair looks like an ad for Pantene,” Darcy pouts. Bucky can’t help but tilt his head when her nails gently scrape his scalp, but catches himself quickly and carefully tugs her wrist away from his hair before he starts making sounds he’ll regret. He’s not ready for _that_.

“Your hair is fine,” Bucky tells her sincerely. “Pretty.” 

Darcy rolls her eyes. “Yeah. If you like nests. I mean the length looks good on me, but it never gets to your level. And I doubt you do anything beyond washing it, right?” Bucky shakes his head, and Darcy gives a sharp nod, as if expecting the answer. “Exactly. I dunno. Guess it’s genetics, doomed to be passed down to my theoretical spawn.”

Bucky wants to protest, wants to linger on the phrasing of what she says last, but she’s heading to the kitchen counter and he goes to his bag, yanking out a shirt and tugging it over himself. He feels the telltale heat on his back and he turns around. Darcy, eating his blueberries, gives him an innocent smile.

“I’m serious about the magnifying glass, doll,” Bucky says dryly, but his mind is cataloging this with the slowly growing pile of instances around that are following a pattern and can no longer be ignored. It summarizes into a singular thought, an incontestable fact that Bucky is having trouble coming to grips with: Darcy Lewis finds him attractive.

The fact troubles him, because _how the fuck_ and _why_ , but something deep in his chest stops him from vocalizing it to her. Bucky can’t reconcile it with himself but the notion, the _theoretical_ notion leaves him with satisfaction, and something like…pride?

It’s disconcerting.

But something tells him that asking her about it is not the way to go. He might’ve lost seventy years of his life but he remembers enough social graces to know bringing this up will compromise their situation. They still need each other, for survival. Bucky alone could not have done this, not nearly as well or—as much as he doesn’t like admitting it, comfortably—without Darcy’s help. If he is the machine Darcy is the architect, each dependent on the other in a way that makes their coexistence nearly effortless.

And, Bucky thinks distractedly when Darcy bites into a cherry and licks the blood-red juice from her lips and the ends of her fingertips, he rather likes the way she looks at him. He wonders if she feels the same.

Bucky stalks to the counter and glances at the array of fruits Darcy took the initiative to lay out for their breakfast, remnants of yesterday morning’s raid. Bucky glances at Darcy before picking up a honeydew melon slice, watching a smirk slide on her face before she laughs.

“This a white flag on the melon rebellion?” Darcy grins, leaning an elbow on the counter.

Bucky chews thoughtfully. “Nope. Still disgusting.”

Darcy’s mouth scrunches in an angry little pout that curves up into a smile when she swipes at him, but Bucky leans out of her reach with a grin. “Don’t like bubble tea, don’t like honeydew melon. It’s a wonder we even met, Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky shrugs, leaning over to grab a cherry. Before she can say anything Bucky says pointedly, “I saw you picking at my blueberries, Darce. There are no rules anymore.”

A little smile blooms on Darcy’s face. “Oh man, you called me Darce. An hour ago it was Lewis. That’s like, a symbol of best friendship right there. You ready for that? Can you handle best friend Darcy Lewis? It’s happening. Now, as we speak.”

Bucky bites into the cherry and watches her eyes flicker to his lips, watches them lose focus a little. She swallows thickly when he swipes his tongue over his lips and flickers her gaze back up to his face, and she flusters a bit when she realizes Bucky’s been watching her. He can practically see the wheels churning in that curious little mind of hers as she forces a questioning look to return on her face, raising an eyebrow.

 _Assessment: confirmed._ The satisfied feeling in his chest deepens, and it confuses him for a second. But he didn’t imagine the look, and he didn’t imagine the response Darcy had from him watching her. This is different than before. Far more different.

Bucky nods slowly. “I can handle that.”

Darcy nods back absently, eyes lost in thought. Then, “Itinerary.”

Bucky blinks. “What?”

Darcy strides around the kitchen island and fishes out a pamphlet. She holds it out for him and Bucky takes it cautiously.

“I got that yesterday from the dining hall,” Darcy explains as Bucky rifles through it curiously. He sees several things underlined and circled, and looks up to pin Darcy with a stare.

“We’re not doing this.”

“Oh yes we are. We’ve got unlimited access to cruise ship amenities and I am ready to kick your ass at all of them.” Darcy says this proudly, placing her hands on her hips with more cheer than Bucky can muster.

“What if we’re spotted? What if people recognize me? What if they start asking questions, try figuring out what room we’re in?” Bucky tosses the pamphlet back at her and she just barely catches it, sending him a glare.

“We’ll tell them we’re on a honeymoon and then laugh and walk away.” Darcy sighs when Bucky gives her a weary look. “Come on, people who paid for this trip aren’t here to socialize, they’re here to entertain themselves and pat themselves on the back for how utterly rich they are, taking a damn cruise ship to America instead of an economy flight like the rest of us heathens. We’ll be just fine.”

Bucky doesn’t stop glaring. Darcy wilts. “Please? What do you want? I’ll agree to one thing of your choice if you just spend this day with me not giving a shit.”

Bucky’s eyebrows hike up, mildly surprised. “You bribing me, doll?”

Darcy smiles, tilting her head suggestively. “I’m not above a good bribe, my friend. What do you say? A free pass on whatever you want. Never expires either so you can use it whenever you want. Nothing sexual!” When Bucky still looks at her dubiously, Darcy sighs loudly. “Come on, Bucky. I’m bribing you to spend the day having _fun_. At least try putting this in perspective.”

Bucky’s last defense crumbles, and reluctantly he nods. “Fine, one day out. Then we lay _low_ , alright? It’s too risky.”

Darcy grins and bounces on her toes in triumph, a happy little sound coming from the back of her throat. “Oh thank god!” Darcy steps forward as her arms instinctively come up to reach for Bucky, but she freezes. Bucky kicks himself mentally when she clears her throat and maintains their distance, foregoing what Bucky guesses was to be a hug, and smiles up at him brightly while awkwardly running her hands through her hair instead.

Half of him surges with affection for Darcy respecting his distance and her promise to make sure she doesn’t reach for him suddenly like she had with the Incident; the other miserable half wishes he’d had more control of himself and had never threatened her, had never created this distance between them in the first place. The more she takes care of staying away the more touch-starved he finds himself, which makes absolutely no sense to him. If he thinks of it, he still doesn’t like anyone else to be near him, and _yet_ …

“I’m still holding onto that free pass, though, doll,” Bucky steps forward and, with only the slightest hesitation, slings his arm around her shoulders and guides them to the front door.

Darcy beams, and he feels her arm tentatively wrap around his waist. The new boundary is set. Bucky smiles, just a little, and it widens when Darcy says, “I’d lose all respect for you if you didn’t.”

**-:-**

Darcy wants to bang her head against a wall.

What was it Darcy thought this morning? Focus on the mission? New York, Stark Tower, go back to England, _don’t_ think of Bucky? Darcy almost snorts. That mission tanked the second she got a look of him with a towel around his neck and a cherry—a _damnable cherry_ —rolling around his mouth. “For fuck’s sake,” Darcy grumbles under her breath. Naturally, what does Darcy’s mind do rectify the situation? Spend the entire day out with him.

“Did you say something?” Bucky asks her, tilting his head down at her. Darcy smiles brightly and shakes her head.

“Nope,” Darcy pops the _p_ , and focuses back on the dart board. She squints one eye as she aligns the dart.

“Y’know,” Bucky starts casually, shoving his hands in his pockets, “if you wanted to do this kind of stuff we could’ve done it any other time at a bar, not this one.”

“Well,” Darcy replies with a lilt to her voice, ignoring the distracting way Bucky is watching her, “since we can’t step foot in a _real_ bar right now, and definitely not while we’re in New York running from Idra-Hay, this is the best I can do.”

Bucky sighs, folding his arms over his chest. “Just as well,” Darcy hears him say in a long-suffering voice. “Now I know who to go to when I need cash.”

He says this when Darcy flings the dart at the board, and it embeds into the adjacent wall. Darcy whirls around to stare up at him, and—wouldn’t she know—there’s a barely concealed smirk hovering on his face.

“Bucky Barnes,” Darcy says dangerously low, “have you been hustling me?”

Bucky bites the side of his lower lip and Darcy shoves against his chest, making Bucky laugh aloud. “What the hell, man! Here I was showing you how everything’s done—was the ‘dumb luck’ during pool a hustle? You tainted pool hour?”

“No, I really didn’t remember how to play that,” Bucky holds up his hands when Darcy clenches her fists, a look of betrayal fixed on her face. “I swear. I’m just a good shot.”

Darcy crosses her arms. “Right. So Blackjack? That stint with Texas Hold ‘Em? _Bowling?_ All lies. This is worse than Brutus.”

Bucky tilts his head in thought. “You mean with Caesar?”

“Et, tu?”

“ _Darcy_ ,” Bucky shakes his head, trying not to smile at how adorably cross she looks, “I’m just good at most things. I can’t help it.”

“You tell that to all the girls?”

Bucky shrugs, frowning. “I can’t remember.”

“Oh,” Darcy’s eyes flash and Bucky ducks his head, fighting a grin, “that bit won’t work here, buddy. You owe me. Now brace yourself because I’m competitive as fuck and I’m not gonna hold back anymore.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky straightens. Darcy bites her lip, glancing at him pensively, before turning to the small table before them and grabbing a handful of darts and dumping them in his outstretched hand.

She watches him sink three into a bullseye and plops down sulkily at their table. Wonderful. If Darcy knew that all it would take for Bucky Barnes to come out of his shell was to give the man an opportunity to show off, she would’ve done it days ago. She smiles when Bucky glances back at her each time he throws a dart, a smug look about him that she hasn’t seen him. Ever, actually. The mental list is growing longer in the recesses of Darcy’s mind, of all the things that makes Bucky smile. Eating blueberries, swing dancing, and absolutely destroying Darcy in all semi-competitive games are guaranteed successes to getting a grin.

Darcy pauses when she feels her side pocket buzz. Frowning, Darcy pulls out Jane’s borrowed phone.

**-:-**

Something has gone wrong.

Bucky senses it the second he turns to Darcy. She’s shoving something in her pocket and staring blankly at their table. Bucky slowly walks over to her.

“What’s wrong?” he asks her immediately. Darcy startles and looks up at him.

“Nothing,” she smiles. It is unconvincing.

Incorrect. Bucky narrows his eyes and lowers his voice. “Is there a threat?”

Darcy frowns. Genuine. “No, nothing like that. It’s nothing. I’m fine.” Bucky glances away, around her, trying to understand. Something in the last two minutes changed and he can’t figure out what. Darcy’s expression is all but closed off from him and for the first time since they met, he can’t get a read on her.

“Hey, I’m gonna head back to the room. I’m kind of tired.”

Bucky looks at Darcy carefully, assessing her as she stands. “Okay.” He moves to follow but she holds out her hand.

“No, you can stay! Have some fun, you deserve it.”

Bucky shakes his head slowly. He doesn’t know how to say it. If she goes, he goes. The recreation rooms are useless to him without her.

His willingness to follow doesn’t appease her, though. Darcy’s eyes tighten but she shrugs and walks towards the exit.

They walk in silence back to the suite. Bucky fidgets a little next to her, glancing every few seconds at her unsurely. He doesn’t understand the sudden reticence or the need to head back to the room. He reflects quickly on their interactions, trying to find something he might’ve done to anger her. The last time Darcy was annoyed was when he questioned her confidence during their surveillance mission last night, but even then she was not this shaken. Is she genuinely angry about him besting her in their games? Bucky had detected only mild annoyance but overwhelmingly their banter had been light, teasing. Friendly. Things he’s begun associating with Darcy.

Bucky reaches for their door and holds it out for her. Darcy smiles briefly in thanks and heads straight to the sofa. He watches her bend down and grab her laptop. “I’m gonna rest in the bedroom,” she tells him. Bucky nods slowly, and watches Darcy’s back retreat to the bedroom and close the door.

Standing awkwardly in the living room with nothing else to do, Bucky sits down on the sofa.

This shouldn’t bother him so much. Bucky never expected to be companionable with Darcy all the time, but their interactions together thus far told him she is an open person, a driven person who doesn’t shy from voicing her opinion or taking control of a situation. To close off this way...Bucky frowns. Perhaps it is simple. Darcy, taking control of a situation.

Bucky’s frown deepens. What would she possibly need to take control like this? Mission directive is suspended until they reach land, so it couldn’t be related to their journey across the ocean. Bucky thinks on Darcy’s companion and closest friend, Jane Foster. Did she contact Darcy again? But no, Bucky thinks. Yesterday Darcy had been happy to share any updates regarding Jane, the Avengers, and the news with Bucky. In fact, they mutually relied on it. _A team_ , Darcy had said to him over and over. They are a team.

So, unrelated to their mission and to their teamwork. Bucky’s eyes dart about the room, deep in thought. It is then that he notices his pack.

To an idle eye nothing would seem conspicuously different, but Bucky is trained to notice the slightest change around him. And right now, his pack is unbuckled. He has no memory of leaving it open.

Bucky rifles through it carefully and immediately registers what’s missing. Swallowing hard, Bucky stands up and marches to the bedroom and yanks open the door.

Darcy, sitting cross-legged on the bed, jolts in surprise. Bucky catalogues the laptop, now lying fallen and half-opened by the bed. A slight tremble of her lower lip. Her hands wrapped tightly around the flask that is missing from his pack.

“Fifteen minutes,” Darcy notes mildly. “I expected you to be faster.”

Bucky stares at her for a moment as she continues to work on the flash. “Darcy. Why the vodka.”

Darcy shrugs, still not looking at him. “Just felt like getting a little drunk. I promise I meant to save you some. Or pay you back.” She scowls hard as her hands attempt to pry the flask open, until Darcy slams it against the bed angrily. “Why won’t this _open?_ ”

Bucky slowly walks around the bed, then sits carefully next to her and gently takes the flask from her hands. “There’s a bar downstairs, isn’t there?”

Darcy snorts lowly. “Figured you’d have the stronger stuff. And I wanted to wallow a bit in my room, so can you please just open that and leave me alone for a while?”

Bucky stares at the flask and uses his left hand to crack it open. He’d closed it with his left hand, after all. Wordlessly, he holds it out for her.

Darcy bites her lip. She takes the flask from him and holds it in her lap, but doesn’t take a sip.

Bucky starts when he hears a sniff, just as he’s about to leave. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, biting her lip hard to stop them. She’s curling in on herself and lets Bucky take the flask from her before setting it on the nightstand.

He doesn’t move again. He doesn’t ask why she’s unhappy. He sits and lets her hastily wipe her eyes, struggling to even her breathing. He sits with her as she sighs unsteadily, staring at his hands.

“I got an email today,” Darcy says, voice quiet. “I expected it. I’ve been dreading it, really. It was from my university. I’ve missed an exam and three quizzes and my attendance is shot. I’m basically guaranteed failing the summer classes.”

Bucky’s heart skips a bit, guilt clenching against his chest. “It’s just,” Darcy draws in a shaky breath, “I was doing so well, _so_ well, despite this being like, the hardest thing I’ve ever done my whole life. It’s so hard, Bucky. And I knew I was in trouble when I missed the first day and now it’s been nearly a week, and…” Darcy stops, closing her eyes. “I just really wanted this, you know? Even came here to maybe do some online quizzes but—but then anyone monitoring my account will know I submitted a quiz, will trace it back here and we’ll be caught. So I can’t do that.”

Bucky lowers his eyes, hands curling into loose fists. “I’m sorry.”

Darcy turns to look at him for the first time. “What are you sorry about?”

“You’re missing school because of me. I dragged you into this.”

Darcy narrows her eyes that are still wet. “And I chose to help you. I didn’t have to. I could’ve cooperated and had my hands clean of you. But I didn’t—I would never. That’s on _me_. Don’t you dare take that away from me.”

She looks at him fiercely, her eyes puffy and skin streaked with the remaining evidence of her sorrow, but Bucky has never seen her look stronger. He nods quickly, and Darcy gives a curt nod in return.

They sit in silence for a while, abated only by the occasional sniff from Darcy. Bucky fiddles with his fingers, swallowing thickly, his body itching to bolt, to preserve what he’s been afraid to share, the reason he left Steve on the side of the river instead of staying with the one person who fought to save him, who knew his past. He reaches for the flask on the nightstand and stares at it.

“When I came to,” he starts quietly. Darcy turns to look at him. “When I…realized what happened to me…that I’d been, for seventy years…” He ducks his head and Darcy shifts closer, listening intently. Bucky catches her eye. “The first thing I did was try getting piss drunk.”

Darcy’s eyes widen. “How’d that work for you?”

Bucky lets out a humorless chuckle. “Sober as a fucking nun. Turns out, I can’t get drunk.”

Darcy presses her lips together, looking thoughtful. “I read somewhere that, well, Captain America can’t…can’t get drunk either. The super serum like, metabolizes the alcohol really quickly and it doesn’t affect him. It’s the same for you too, then.”

“Just lucky like that,” Bucky efforts a small, pained smile. Darcy’s eyes soften. “Kept this flask anyway. It’s party psychological, I think. If you drink to get drunk, you’re already expecting it. I can’t get drunk but drinking this lets me…steady myself. Have some kind of control, takes the edge off.”

“That makes sense,” Darcy nods in understanding. Bucky shrugs.

“Wasn’t enough though. In the beginning it was rough. Was all over the place, still trying to piece together who I was, where I was. I couldn’t—couldn’t understand what was real or not. ‘S why I started keeping a journal.”

“I noticed that,” Darcy says softly. “How does that work?”

Bucky pauses before getting up and leaving the bedroom. Grabbing the journal from his pack, Bucky reenters the bedroom and sits back down on the bed with Darcy. He opens the journal and rifles through it idly, newspaper clippings sticking out every few pages.

“First it was to tack down facts, thing in the paper. A lot about Steve. The day, month, year.” Bucky turns the pages slowly, holding it out a bit to let Darcy see. “Then, things I knew about myself. Facts. Then what I needed to do next…to survive. Where to go. Learn who I am. Gather intel, keep track of where Hydra might be.” Bucky flips through a few pages again, nearing the middle of the journal. “Then, when things calmed down, it was just writing what I did each day. To remember when I felt like I wasn’t really here or none of this was real. Started writing what stuff I liked.”

Darcy smiles a little when she reads, “You wrote plums in capital letters. And four underlines.”

Bucky smiles back, lowering his eyes a little, abashed. “I like them a lot.”

“I’ll look out for them in the breakfast lineup,” Darcy promises, and he knows she means it. Bucky stares at her for a moment before flipping a few pages again and holding out the journal to her. Darcy glances at in surprise, then looks up at him.

“This is what I wrote when I saw you in the _Tea House_ ,” he tells her.

Darcy swallows visibly, her eyes rounding. “Oh no, that—that’s private. You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Bucky says, voice low but firm. Darcy bites her lip and hesitantly takes the journal from him.

She clears her throat, giving him an uncertain look before looking down on the journal. “‘June sixteen’,” she reads quietly. “‘Tea House. Tapioca is shit.’” Darcy snorts and glances at Bucky, who shrugs. “‘Very quiet, lets me think clearer. Young woman with long hair advised against eating the fortune cookie. I tried anyway.’” Darcy looks up sharply, gaping. “Oh, Bucky. Honey, no.”

“I should’ve listened to you,” Bucky heaves a sigh, and Darcy giggles and looks back down at the journal.

“‘June seventeen. Saw civilian woman at the Tea House again. Her notes suggest a woman of science. Possibly agent, from the advanced equations. Most likely just very intelligent.’ Aw, Buck. That means a lot to me.”

“I told you before that your notes scared me a bit,” Bucky admits. “I was serious.”

Darcy beams up at him. She turns the page and reads, muttering quietly, “The last thing you wrote was…‘Science Girl is brave.’”

When Darcy looks at him, Bucky gives a nod of approval. He tries deciphering the look in her eyes but there’s no need; Darcy closes the book quietly and fully turns to face him.

“Bucky,” Darcy says carefully. “I’m going to hug you now. I need to know if that’s okay with you. You’ve been alright with me touching you today but I want to make sure.”

Bucky’s heart thuds and he inhales slowly. Licking his lips, Bucky answers, “It’s okay with me.”

Darcy rises on her knees, shifting closer, and wraps her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. Bucky feels something _release_ inside him and he sags, wrapping his arms tightly around her and holding her tight against him. God, when was the last time anybody held him like this? Without threat of pain, without anything but warmth and kindness? Bucky latches onto this, onto the overwhelming feeling that stirs in him as Darcy leans even closer and tightens her hold in him, humming a little when Bucky buries his face in her hair and breathes in slowly, the scent of soap and honey washing over him. It dizzies him, throws him off-balance and for the first time he doesn’t _care_ ; she’s holding him and running her fingers down his back and he never wants to let this go.

Darcy starts to pull away but Bucky’s not ready for that, and he burrows his face deeper against her shoulder. She stops and her hand runs down her back again, trailing up to run through his hair. “It’s okay,” Darcy says softly. “You’re okay. We’re okay.” She shifts again but this time she draws closer, settling in his lap as he leans against the headboard. He feels her press a soft kiss on his neck and a ragged sigh escapes him, his body shuddering. Her fingers never leave his hair. His arms never leave her waist.

**-:-**

He falls asleep to Darcy’s steady breathing and the warmth of her body, and the soft caress of her fingers against his scalp. He wakes up to Darcy’s quiet snores.

It’s nightfall. Bucky stares down himself when Darcy shifts against him, her head nuzzling against his chest. He thinks she’d fall back asleep, but is surprised when he hears her mumble softly, “What time is it?”

Bucky looks out the window, at the level of darkness around them. “Around ten, I think.” He glances down at Darcy again. “You should take the Dramamine before you forget. You take it at night now, remember?”

Darcy makes an unintelligible but decidedly grumpy noise. Bucky’s lips turn up and pokes her side. “C’mon, doll. Take it and you can go back to sleep.”

She huffs and pulls away from him, throwing a dark look. He grins when she grumbles all the way to the nightstand and downs the Dramamine with a generous gulp of water. Grimacing, Darcy stretches her arms until they pop. “Guess we might as well get ready for bed properly. I still have the taste of those bar pretzels in my mouth.”

They take turns using the bathroom and Darcy saunters back to the bedroom to change into her night clothes while Bucky brushes his teeth. He’s just started to fluff the sofa cushions before Darcy emerges from the bedroom, staring at him questioningly.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demands, eyebrow raised.

Bucky stops, looking at her blankly. “Uh…”

“You’re not sleeping here,” Darcy says firmly, crossing her arms.

Bucky sighs quietly. “Darce, we talked about this. There’s no need to take turns.”

“Oh I know. We’re not taking turns. You’re sleeping on the bed next to me.”

His heart skips a beat, and Bucky struggles to regain control of his breathing. “Doll—”

“Nope. Not a negotiation. There’s absolutely no reason not to,” Darcy shake her head as she crosses the living room and threads her fingers through Bucky’s, tugging him gently. When Bucky doesn’t move Darcy, turns back to look at him. “Come,” she says simply. Maybe it’s the way she says it, or the way she gazes up at him. There’s something more in those eyes, something with levity and assurance. Something safe.

Bucky’s fingers tighten around Darcy’s and they walk to the bedroom. She pulls the duvet out for them and Bucky settles in hesitantly, until they’re both staring up at the ceiling with a layer of awkwardness hanging around them.

Darcy huffs a little laugh, and turns her head to look at him. “Night, Bucky.”

Bucky pushes down the urge to smile, but it spreads on his lips anyway. “Sweet dreams, Darcy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly had so, so much fun writing this. Also, did I mention you're all amazing? Because you are. I'm constantly blown away by the response to this fic.
> 
> Next chapter will be more plot-heavy and things will pick up. Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you thought of this one! xxx


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had promised plot-heavy but this chapter had to be split so that'll be in the next one. Like, immediately in the next one. This one has fluff and a lot of Winter Soldier feels. I regret absolutely nothing.
> 
>  **Sin:** I know nothing about coding, hacking, decryption, or how to write Russian words without google translate.

**-:-**

**“See how she leans her cheek upon her hand.**  
**O, that I were a glove upon that hand**  
**That I might touch that cheek!”**

-Romeo and Juliet,  _William Shakespeare_

**-:-**

** Chapter 8 **

For the first time in a very long time, Bucky wakes feeling content.

No, that isn’t right. He felt content several hours ago when he woke with Darcy sleeping against him in his lap, leaning against the headboard of the bed. This would be the second time, then.

For the _second_ time in one night, Bucky feels…well, he _feels_. Warm. Languid. Like he wouldn’t care if he slept for several more hours and that was all he accomplished in the day. Bucky wakes up and doesn’t tense, doesn’t even remotely think of the things that haunt the back of his mind, how his memories are like silk through his fingers or that he’s a fugitive on the run—none of these things register when he takes the first inhale, opening his eyes to an early dawn.

Darcy, twined as she is, mirrors his sharp inhale and stretches against him. Her feet are tangled in the bed sheets with one leg thrown over his thigh, and she makes a small, irritated noise and kicks off the sheets until they’re completely off of her and bunched against Bucky instead. She does this with a frown and her eyes closed, and Bucky can’t help but huff a little. 

Darcy’s eyes open, squinting first at the metal arm she’s pressed against then to Bucky’s face. She blinks a few times, shifting her leg a little and it slides up his thigh. Bucky holds his breath, wondering if she’ll untangle herself.

She doesn’t.

“Sleep alright?” Darcy mumbles, her voice light.

Bucky nods. “Slept straight through. Woke up just now.”

Darcy hums, eyes shuttering closed. “S’good, Bucky.” She moves again, burrowing her face—much to Bucky’s amusement—where Bucky’s shoulder and the mattress meet. The metal plates of his shoulder automatically shift in response, a soft whir and slide. Darcy’s hand comes up to tap them, mumbling. “ _Shhhhh_.”

Her breathing evens out and Bucky knows she’s fallen asleep again, her hand still on his arm. Bucky closes his eyes.

**-:-**

Sharing a bed, truth be told, isn’t something that’s inherently strange.

Darcy’s shared her bed several times throughout her life—with her cousins, with her friends, with Jane and Erik, and then Jane again…and again, during their month-long stakeout—and while most of them involved some level of awkward shifting and jerking awake when someone smacks their hand across her face or yanks the sheets away, none of them really compare to this.

The only way to describe it is _sprawling_. That’s what they’ve done. Darcy suspects she’s the initial culprit; Jane never shied from telling Darcy that she’s a possessive sleeper, and laughed it off easily because stargazing is chilly business and the warmth that came with Darcy’s midnight hugs was well worth it. So yes, Darcy's been known to sprawl a bit once she feels comfortable enough—in this case, on the first night sharing the bed with Bucky.

But Bucky is no better, because he is as wrapped around her as she is around him; chin tucked on the crown of her head, arm wound around her waist and buried somewhere in her hair, and legs tangled with hers.

She stares at his chest, centimeters from her nose, unblinking. For a moment Darcy’s mind goes blank. She can’t reconcile this, not really, as addled as her bleary mind is. And it’s _warm_ , almost unbearably, with the blanket bunched around their legs and Bucky being the equivalent of a human furnace. Wincing a bit, Darcy frees a hand from between them and wipes the moisture from her forehead.

The movement makes Bucky shift, his arm pulling Darcy closer against him. Darcy swallows, biting her lip, and lifts her head to assess their entanglement and what would be the best maneuver to wrangle herself free. Because while this is something she’d like to ponder on and appreciate its warm, languid worth, Darcy has to pee.

Darcy starts with her leg and it’s by far the easiest, inching it away from his and shifting her hip. Her arms are more or less already free, leaving Bucky’s iron grip around her waist.

Her hand gently closes around his wrist to pull his arm off but the more she tries the firmer his grip becomes. Sighing exasperatedly, Darcy glances down between them and bites her lower lip. “Bucky. _Bucky_.” Nothing. Darcy glances at the ceiling. “God help me. Okay.” She starts slipping down instead, sliding out of his grasp. She thinks it’s working, a little victorious smile on her lips, and her right hand presses down to anchor herself as she wriggles away—except it’s not the mattress her hand presses against but warm metal.

The plates move beneath her hand and suddenly metal fingers clamp around her wrist, throwing her off-balance and sending her toppling against Bucky’s chest in a low ‘ _oof!_ ’

He's awake. And she, Darcy thinks miserably, is even more up in his business than they started with. Darcy lifts her head, eyes meeting Bucky’s.

Even in the muted darkness Darcy can see the blank look in the way he stares at her, unmoving. She recognizes it. It’s the same way he looked the brief moment when Bucky had shoved her against a wall with a gun to her jaw mere days ago—a look that told her that the man was acting on instinct.

This time is a little different. The fingers around her wrists are loose, almost caressing with the way his metal thumb was making the world’s smallest circle around her wrist. He doesn’t seem at all bothered by the way she’s half-lying on top of him, or that her other hand had instinctively come up to hold herself against his chest. A very firm chest, Darcy thinks idly.

“Um.” Darcy licks her lips. Bucky’s eyes flick down to her mouth, then back to her eyes. “So…I need to use the bathroom. Sorry for waking you up.”

Bucky blinks. Twice. She can see the exact moment it clicks in his head, for his hand slips away from her wrist and he’s helping her sit up, looking studiously away from her. Darcy scrambles to her knees and is just about to slide off the bed when she sees him glance at the spot where she’d been sleeping, the sheets rumpled with a very clear Darcy-indent in them. Darcy can’t stop the little smile when his cheeks start to pinken, and she reaches over to mess the hair on the top of his head. Bucky glances up quickly, watching as she grins. “I’ll be right back. Stay _right_  here.” The hesitant little smile Bucky gives in return as his eyes follow her mad dash to the bathroom is incentive enough to make Darcy use the toilet at record-speed.

Bucky’s staring out the window sitting cross-legged when Darcy returns. She bends down on her way to the bed and grabs the laptop that she’d tossed aside the night before, and jumps back on the bed. Darcy bounces a bit, as does Bucky (with a little less gusto), and he watches her in amusement as Darcy sidles up next to him and opens the laptop.

“Alright Bucky,” Darcy cracks her knuckles and peers up at him. “I made a promise to you a few days ago, and now it’s time you collect.” Bucky frowns, giving her a questioning look. “Your past. I’m gonna help you learn about who you were.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, almost imperceptibly. Darcy waits for him patiently as his jaw opens and closes, glancing away from her. Finally, he looks back at her. “Really?”

“R—of course, really. I said I would, right?” Bucky nods. Darcy smiles brightly. “What better time than now? It’s gonna be our day in today, that was the deal for you spending the whole day yesterday with me.”

“Right,” Bucky says, and she can tell he’s thinking about the games they played together—namely, the way he completely hustled her—for a familiar smirk graces his lips. Darcy rolls her eyes and shifts backwards to settle against the headboard, pausing to fluff pillows for the both of them. He follows, settling beside her against the headboard and watching curiously as her fingers start typing rapidly on the little keyboard.

“What do you want to know first?” Darcy looks up at him.

Bucky thinks on this for a moment. “I already know the stuff from the museum in D.C. Um…” Bucky reaches over to the nightstand and picks up his journal. Flipping to the first page, he reads, “I’m James Buchanan Barnes. I was born March 10, 1917. I fought in the Second World War.” His jaw clenches, glancing down. “I should have died in the War.”

Darcy swallows, turning back to the open browser on the laptop. “What else? Anything specific from…from then, that you remember?”

Bucky furrows his brow. “I…I remember…an alley, where I lived.” He pauses. “Sometimes I can see him.”

Darcy frowns. “Him?” When he doesn’t immediately respond she glances away, thinking. “Are you talking about Steve?”

Bucky gives a tiny nod, eyes lost in thought. “His mother’s name was Sarah. He used to stuff newspapers in his shoes.” A ghost of a smile twitches on his lips. Darcy smiles softly, watching his eyes dart around as memories surface in his mind. “We’d go dancing on Thursdays, scrap up ten cents for a banana float and our choice song on the gramophone. Steve hated it but came every Thursday anyway.”

“That’s great, Bucky,” Darcy says earnestly, and Bucky glances at her. His smile is hesitant, tremulous, but it doesn’t fade. Darcy wriggles a little closer, needing to—she doesn’t know why, god she doesn’t want to know—needing to be near him as if she’s an anchor, needing to reassure him with whatever she could give. He tenses at first when her shoulder brushes his, the metal plates shifting uneasily. But she tucks herself as close as she would let herself, still wary of both his comfort and her own, not moving any closer. “I’m going to try accessing your encrypted files that leaked from Hydra’s datamine. The Shield leak really did a number on the whole underground.”

Darcy’s fingers type quickly, running a background scanner as she opens the first set of files she finds on Bucky. She bites her lower lip when images of Bucky start popping up, some clad in uniform with a brilliant smile on his face, underscored by the faint words, _Sergeant James Barnes, 107 th division._

She doesn’t feel it, not at first. Rather, she hears it; the metal plates whir quietly, almost gently behind her. Bucky’s moving his metal arm, sliding it behind her back in a slow, shallow arc until his hand is hovering at the space next to her hip, but not touching. Darcy chews on her lower lip and sees his hand clench and unclench, the tiny little finger plates shifting with each movement. Gently, Darcy runs her fingertips over the plating of his fingers and presses against them with the softest pressure, giving permission but not making the choice for him. Bucky closes the last distance between them and slides his hand over Darcy’s hip, pulling her flush to against his side.

Darcy glances up at him. “Well now that _that’s_ out of the way,” she gives him a teasing smile and Bucky ducks his head, smiling. Something changed since last night; Darcy’s not so transparent not to notice it, to have missed the look of utter devastation on Bucky’s face when she had tried to break their first hug. Something has shifted between them, nothing noticeably different, just…a sense of comfort. One Darcy didn’t know she wanted, or was willing to give to him so willingly in return. She… _wants_ to. She wants to help him, she wants to hold him until he felt a little more human again. And maybe it’s selfish of her—maybe she’s as touch-starved as he is. But when Bucky’s fingers flex at her hip, exhaling quietly by her ear, Darcy can’t find it in herself to regret this.

With a little shake of her head, Darcy turns back to the screen. She sifts through the data, making a noise of irritation when ten encrypted files end up being about Shield members’ culinary preferences.

“It…doesn’t bother you.”

Darcy doesn’t respond at first, frowning at the screen. “…Hmm?”

She feels Bucky shrug. Darcy drags her eyes away from the screen to look at him, and he’s peering down at her curiously. The metal fingers at her hip squeeze gently, the plates whirring softly, and Darcy understands.

“You’re not the first person I’ve seen with a prosthetic, Bucky. They’re kind of a thing now, especially with vets.”

Bucky looks away, impatience edging in his voice. “It’s not just a prosthetic, Darcy. It’s a weapon.”

Darcy blinks. “Well, yeah. But also, anything could be a weapon. My laptop, that pillow. Your other hand has seen darker days too, I imagine. Doesn’t mean you live your life scared of everything. Besides,” Darcy shrugs, pulling his hand closer around her, “you’re warm.”

Bucky doesn’t reply, taking Darcy’s sudden rapid typing as her proverbial settling of the matter.

They sit in companionable silence for several minutes, Darcy clicking the mousepad and Bucky’s fingers tracing idle circles in Darcy’s shirt. His fingers glide up to twist a strand of Darcy’s hair, following it up to Darcy’s neck and pushing the mass of hair off her shoulder. She sighs quietly, her head tilting a little to the side when his fingers carefully run through her hair, brushing against her scalp. Darcy pouts a little when they leave her hair and return around her waist, but he holds her close and props his chin on her shoulder to look at the screen instead.

“Ooh,” Darcy’s eyebrows hike up, and Bucky leans further over her shoulder. She throws him a wicked grin. “Baby Barnes!”

“How the hell did they even find that?” Bucky mutters, and Darcy can’t stop from laughing as she scrolls further down, each page revealing a foggy picture of Bucky through his formative years—she pauses at one with Steve and Bucky standing side-by-side, Bucky’s arm around a tiny little Steve’s neck, who looks as exasperated as Bucky looks gleeful.

Darcy reads the small captions under the photos, “‘James Barnes. Likes: candies, gumdrops, pies, cakes’—see, I already knew that,” Darcy says knowingly, and Bucky huffs a laugh.

“Yeah? How d’you figure that?”

Darcy gives him a look, as much as she could with his head resting on her shoulder. “Uh, you kind of demolished the pastries the day we got them. And every time we get food from those outside restaurants you get a chocolate shake with extra syrup and an oversized sugar cookie. You’ve got the biggest sweet tooth, Bucky boy.”

Bucky grins. “You watchin’ what I buy, Darcy doll?”

“So no to the ‘Bucky boy’,” Darcy observes, then shrugs. “As if you don’t notice I get a bearclaw every time too.”

Bucky snorts.

The smile freezes when she decrypts the next file. Darcy’s eyes widen when the next file pops open, revealing an old document. The corner has a faded picture of Bucky, in uniform again but unsmiling. On the bottom is another photo of Bucky but his hair is longer, eyes closed, obscured behind a layer of glass and ice. “This is in Russian. Let me…” with a few clicks, the script decodes to English. Darcy swallows thickly when she reads the title.

 _Object Winter Soldier: Programming_.

“Holy shit,” Darcy breathes. Bucky’s arm tightens around her, his mouth in a hard line.

“Go to the next page.”

Darcy scrolls down. She wants to look away but she can’t, eyes transfixed on the string of words and images reflecting back at her. A little noise of distress escapes Darcy as they read the document. Bucky makes no sound, doesn’t so much as blink as he stares at the screen.

Written in elaborate detail are lists upon lists of the procedures done, from start to finish, on Bucky since his first imprisonment. A picture of him strapped to a table. A picture of his shoulder, blood clotting around the stump of his arm. A picture of Bucky in uniform, sitting behind a row of bars with several other men around him. Darcy remembers vaguely that Bucky had been a prisoner of war, and can’t stop the horror from bubbling in her throat at what they had done to him.

“I remember that,” Bucky says quietly. “Keep going.” Darcy glances at him. There’s no surprise in his gaze, just a look of resignation and emptiness. When Darcy continues to stare he turns to her, offering her a little smile, as if encouraging her. Darcy turns back to the screen and scrolls down, but not before she moves her arm to close over the one wrapped around her middle, threading their fingers together.

“They’re all…mission reports. Verbatim,” Darcy notes as she reads the logs. “You were right about them wiping you often. You kept remembering things no matter how hard they tried beating it out of you.”

 “Don’t remember giving the reports,” Bucky mutters. His eyes rove over the names, the ones Darcy knows he killed. “But I remember _them_.”

Darcy has to turn away. Gritting her teeth, Darcy scrolls to the bottom of the document. Her brow furrows. “This part’s still encrypted. That doesn’t make sense…” Darcy opens the command box and tinkers a bit, growing frustrated when none of the backdoor entrances work. “Just a little more…shit, not that… _there_.” Darcy squints at the screen. “Okay, I might’ve fucked up. It’s not translating. Why? I don’t know. Can you read that? It looks like a list of command words.”

Bucky’s arm slips from her waist as he peers at the screen closely. “ _Initsiirovat zimniy soldat_.” Darcy peers up at him as he reads. Suddenly his eyes go wide and Bucky jerks away, pushing the laptop off her lap and scrambling up against the headboard.

“Whoa, Bucky!” Darcy glances between the computer and Bucky, who’s closed his eyes and pressing the back of his head against the headboard over and over in short thuds, face contorted in pain. “What happened? What’s on that file?”

“My programming.” Bucky growls, his voice raw. Darcy hovers next to him with worry, sitting on her knees and facing him. “They—I remember.” His eyes fly open and pin Darcy with a look of fear, and something desperate. “I _remember_.”

Darcy glances at the screen, darting over the document. Words, nothing more than a list of words written in Russian reflect back at her. His programming? Slowly, Darcy turns back to him. “You don’t mean…your programming, like—a way to control you?”

Bucky gives a pained look, nodding. “Just reading it h-hurt— _fuck_ —” Bucky grits his teeth and bangs his head back against the headboard, and Darcy yelps.

“Stop that!” Darcy reaches over and places her hand between Bucky’s head and the headboard. Glancing back, Darcy uses her foot to close the laptop and kicks it away, letting it fall on the carpet. “There, it’s gone. Just breathe. And don’t bang your head.”

Bucky inhales shallowly, struggling to control his breathing. Darcy pulls her hand away from where it hovers by the headboard and lets her fingers sink in his hair, running through it as she had last night. She strokes through his hair, nails gently raking against his scalp, and Bucky exhales shakily. His shoulders sag, the tension slowly ebbing from his body. Darcy lets her fingers run through his hair in gentle, calming sweeps, changing where she starts and ends, until Bucky sighs quietly and tilts his head to where he wants to feel her.

Slowly Bucky opens his eyes, staring unblinkingly at the wall. “ _Initsiirovat zimniy soldat_ ,” he repeats quietly. “It’s how they’d start when they wanted me to comply.” Darcy frowns, and he continues, “There's a…a code. A set of words. You expect pain with these words. They're triggers.”

Darcy’s hand goes still in his hair, staring at him as she processes what he’s said. “To make you comply.” Bucky doesn’t reply. “To comply? Like a—like a reset button. Going to default settings. For glitchy tech.” Darcy’s eyes go wide, her mouth parting in understanding. “You were the glitchy tech.”

Bucky looks away from the wall to stare at his hands. Darcy starts playing with his hair again, earning her a little sigh. “I think we’re done for today,” Darcy mutters. “I swear if we see one Hydra prick I’m shoving maximum voltage from my taser up their ass.” Bucky doesn’t respond. “Hey,” Darcy gathers the back of his hair in her grip and gently tugs, forcing Bucky’s head up to meet her eyes. “Fuck those guys, okay? You’re never gonna have to hear those words. That whole part of your past? It’s over. We’ll be in New York in a few days and we’re clearing your name and you’re gonna be a free man, James Barnes. We’re gonna fuck them over so badly.”

Bucky stares at her, the corner of his mouth twitching. “We gonna do all that?”

Darcy straightens, looking at Bucky determinedly. “Yes. So you’re just gonna have to trust me.”

Bucky’s eyes darken, and he looks at her fully. “I do. We…we’re a team.”

Darcy hears this and smiles, her face lighting up as she nods. “That’s right, Bucky. We’re a team and we’re in this together, until the end.”

She sees it again, sees the way something fractures in the way he looks at her. Darcy’s hand slides out of his hair and she shifts closer, holding out her arms. “Come on, my friend. Bring it in.”

He doesn’t waste a second; in an instant Bucky’s arms are around her and he pulls Darcy close, and they both sigh against each other. It’s warm and it’s soft and it’s relief. It is enough.

Bucky draws back first, holding her close as he looks at her softly. “Thank you. For everything.” His eyes drop down between them. “For this.”

Darcy shakes her head, smiling sheepishly. “I’m two minutes away from a meltdown, to be honest. I probably need this more than you do.”

Bucky grins, shaking his head, and pulls her in again.

**-:-**

Amazingly, though without a hint of surprise on Darcy’s end, the unspoken close-contact proximity mutualism extends beyond the hugging.

The hugging is excellent. God, but the man can hug. And desperately has been in need of one. Or six thousand. Darcy suspects it’s something—or entirely—to do with having been forced into seventy years of servitude and torture, the only other touch coming from the ice that preserved him and the gunmetal they gave him.

It had started as a thing of comfort, a smile and, usually Bucky, hesitating for the tiniest second as if asking for permission, before pulling her close and breathing her in.

It doesn’t escape her notice that their mutual comfort has lessened the edge off of Bucky by nearly half. He still sweeps the room every day and stands alert, sitting ramrod straight while Darcy works on the computer—but he also continues to sleep next to her at night and wakes up with her, eats without reserve or rationing, chewing slowly and not as if each bite would be his last.

But somewhere around day four of their new parameters, there are other…things. Like how Bucky starts holding her hand if one of them doesn’t need to be used, whether while she’s on the laptop or writing something down. Or how he’ll pull her feet on his lap if they’re sitting on the sofa without a word, or rest his hand on her waist when walking down the halls of the ship, pulling Darcy against him when there are too many people nearby or none at all.

It’s during one of these new parameters when a piece of Bucky’s memory returns.

Darcy sits on the floor, laptop on her lap scrolling through the latest news articles for any sign of what’s happening with the Avengers and in Wakanda, while Bucky sits behind her on the sofa. He’d all but snatched the hairbrush from her hand when she emerged from the shower, and is now running it through the wet strands of her hair as she leans between the cradle of his knees.

Suddenly the brush goes still in her hair, and Darcy twists around to look at him. Bucky’s eyes have gone wide, staring blankly at the wall before them. “You good?” Darcy asks.

Bucky turns his eyes to her. “I had a sister.”

Darcy blinks, then straightens. “You remembered something!”

Bucky looks back at the wall. “Huh. Turn around.”

And that’s how Darcy learned that James Buchanan Barnes could do every braid possible known to mankind.

**-:-**

It happens at night.

They’d just gone to bed, Darcy gulping down the medicine and sliding under the duvet. Bucky’s still amazed that he has this thing, and with _her_. He’s amazed every time she lets him touch her, brush his fingers across her skin and hold her close against his chest. He thinks at first he wouldn’t mind this with…with Steve, as he remembers him. And it’s nothing. This thing with Bucky and Darcy? It’s nothing he wouldn’t do with any other friend, back when he still had those. Steve had been his friend and Darcy is his friend and he holds her because she lets him and she wants to as much as he does, he can tell.

The shadow of doubt plants when she settles on the bed and preemptively pulls him against her back, throwing his metal arm around her waist and curling her fingers through his. She must notice his surprise, for without missing a beat Darcy mumbles, “Might as well. Gonna wake up in the morning like this anyway.”

He can’t argue that, so he pulls her closer to his chest.

The doubt settles in his mind that no, this isn’t at all like something he would’ve done with Steve—not like this. His heart wouldn’t beat a little faster with Steve pressed against him, soft and warm and holding his hand like it belonged in hers. He holds Darcy because he wants to, not out of imminent need—not anymore. That settled, oddly enough. Bucky hasn’t needed to hold Darcy to _ground_ himself since the first day. This is entirely different.

The shadow expands when Darcy starts running her nails down the ridges of metal down his hand, stopping at his wrist. They’re soft, little movements. His hand flexes instinctively. Darcy covers the back of his hand and tangles their fingers. “How does it work?” she murmurs.

“How does what work?"

“I know you feel this. And you’re warm. This tech is unreal. I just don’t get it.”

Bucky shrugs a little. “I don’t either.” He flips their hand so their palms face each other, and threads their fingers together again. “It feels a little different but it’s…the same signals to the brain that fire when I touch something. It feels like a hand, but not skin. I still feel things like I feel with my right.”

Darcy ponders this. “You think they engineered like…metal nerves or something? And connected it to your real ones of what’s left of your arm?”

“You’re asking a lot of questions for someone who just took a mild sedative,” Bucky says dryly and Darcy laughs, shifting against him. Bucky swallows, her movement shooting straight up his spine and…and…this definitely isn’t something he’d feel with Steve.

Darcy holds their hands up, turning it this way and that, as if inspecting the metal in the dim moonlight. “S’pretty,” Darcy decides, and without preamble she pulls it towards her mouth and plants a lingering kiss on the back of his hand.

Whatever goes through Bucky’s mind, whatever surge of emotion that threatens to bubble out of him, disappears the moment a soft, shrill sound comes from the living room.

Bucky bolts up. Darcy turns around and sits up in alarm. “What is that? Bucky?”

Bucky stumbles out of the bed and flicks on the light of the living room. He hears Darcy padding behind him, hovers over him as he yanks open his pack and pulls out a rectangular device that is making the loud beeping noise. He presses down on the side button and it falls silent. Darcy peers at it, brow furrowing at the tiny black screen on the front with a radar pulsing over it.

“Something’s flying over us,” Bucky mutters. He flicks at the screen and checks the coordinates. “Too high to make contact. It’s at normal air traffic altitude.”

“That’s normal, though. Planes fly all the time,” Darcy frowns.

Bucky shakes his head. “I bugged this whole damn ship to pick up the strong signals—signals only two things could make. Government aircraft, or—”

“Hydra,” Darcy finishes, throat bobbing as she stares at the device warily.

“Or Shield,” Bucky adds.

“Or Shield,” Darcy agrees. “None of that’s good for us, Bucky.”

Bucky stares at the screen. “It’s a precaution. The altitude is too high for contact. Nobody knows we’re here. We’re still safe.” Darcy looks at him, unconvinced. Bucky holds it out to her, wrapping an arm around her waist and tucking Darcy against his shoulder. “Look at it. Look how fast it’s leaving.”

Darcy looks at the signal and licks her lips. “Doesn’t mean we’ll be safe when we hit land.” Darcy frowns suddenly, and narrows her eyes. “Wait, did you say you bugged this entire ship? When in the world did you manage to do that?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Come on, doll. Back to bed.”

“No really, when did you—was it the first night? I _knew_ it, I knew you’d hardly slept and it’s because you were sneaking around the whole ship—!”

Darcy squeals when Bucky pokes at her ribs, and she jerks out of reach when he tries again, running to the bed and diving under the duvet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this fic now officially departs from the main things that happened in Civil War but still incorporating elements of it, like Darcy discovering the trigger words that can set Bucky in to the Winter Soldier state. Next chapter: New York.
> 
> I feel it's important to give a little shoutout to leftennant for being this amazing cheerleader and friend whilst I write this story. You're super supportive and your enthusiasm makes me happier than you'll know. 
> 
> Until chapter 9! xx


	9. Chapter 9

**-:-**

**“You and** **I, Sam, are still stuck in the worst places of the story, and it is all too likely that some will say at this point ‘Shut the book now, dad; we don’t want to read any more’.”**

\--The Lord of the Rings, _J.R.R. Tolkien_

**-:-**

** Chapter 9 **

The night the cruise ship is destined to reach shore, Bucky is restless.  

He almost hates himself for it. He’s on edge and this in turn puts Darcy on edge, as she sends frequent and concerned glances his way. He wants to hate how transparent he’s become to her, at how easily she can read his every movement, every unspoken word that hides behind his clenched teeth. He almost hates it but then, when Darcy wordlessly slips her hand in his and rests her head against his shoulder, offering a quiet comfort where explanations and questions are not necessary, he can only feel relief.

They stay in the suite, picking at the remains of food in the fridge that Darcy has been wisely stocking throughout the week. Most of the day is spent cleaning, wiping every trace of their presence in their little shelter. Around midday they steal into the generator room where Darcy undoes her electrical handiwork, leaving their room powerless and dim against the overcast grey outside the ship.

Bucky triple checks his pack as Darcy stuffs her laptop into her bag. His gaze lingers on the scanner, fishing it out and holding it gingerly in his hand. There hasn’t been another incident since it interrupted Darcy and Bucky’s sleep, and despite his assurances to Darcy that it had to have been a false alarm, he can’t stifle the sense of unease.

His muscles tense and he glances up to see Darcy watching him. Bucky shoves the scanner in his pack and zips it up.

Darcy’s silent question hangs in the air and it presses against him, until he turns to look at her and says, “It’s nothing.”

“I’m sure it is,” Darcy replies easily, giving away nothing. She’s settled on the couch, feet tucked underneath herself. She’s biting her thumbnail, just a small graze of her teeth. He hasn’t seen her do this before.

“That’s a bad habit waiting to form.”

“So is lying, but who’s keeping track?” Darcy smiles with a sharp tilt of her head. It’s overwhelmingly disingenuous.

Bucky sighs, sitting down hard onto the sofa. “I’m not lying.” Darcy stares. “I’m not,” he repeats. “I promise. We made it this far. The signal from the scanner is worrying but our escape plan off this ship should keep our cover in the worst case scenario.” He tries to show it in the way he looks at her that he means his words, that this isn’t what gnaws at his mind. Darcy watches him for a long moment before nodding slowly.

“Alright. I believe you.”

She doesn’t push further nor does she say anything else; pulling her thumb from her mouth, Darcy shifts on the sofa so that she lies against the sofa arm, cushioned against a throw pillow. She tucks her legs close to herself, socks mismatched on her feet just inches from Bucky’s thigh. He glances over at her and sees Darcy staring up at the ceiling, a tiny frown on the corner of her mouth.

His hands move on their own. Gently he hooks an arm under her calves and drags her feet onto his lap. Darcy sighs quietly when his fingers run down her leggings—this is familiar, something he’s done often enough that Darcy’s only response is to wiggle her toes, and Bucky presses his thumbs against the arches of her feet. When she hums quietly, shifting closer to him, Bucky suppresses a smile.

They stay this way for a while, Darcy’s eyes closed and Bucky unwinding the tension in the balls of her feet. “You’re way too good at this, man. I wouldn’t be surprised if I find a file that says your second skillset is professional masseuse.”

Bucky shrugs. “I know pressure points.”

Darcy opens her eyes and lifts her head to look at him. “Oh my god, you’re such a dork.”

“What?” Bucky bristles, somewhat defensive. “It’s true.”

“Of course it’s true. And you just connected your ability to kill a guy with knowing how to render unsuspecting girls into a pile of thoroughly massaged goop. ‘ _I know pressure points’_ ,” Darcy grins when Bucky rolls his eyes and drops his head against the sofa.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, doll. I could always stop…”

His hands start to retreat and Darcy lets out a whimper of dismay, a tragic pout on her lips as she wiggles her feet against his thigh. “Don’t listen to the civilian! What do I know? Tell me more about pressure points and keep doing the thing.”

Bucky can’t hold back the smile any longer, glancing at her. She shoots him wide grin and it’s full of mirth and teasing and innocence and he can’t _really_ be blamed for wanting to see more of it, to see it shift in reaction to him. He glides a finger straight up the arch of her foot dead center and she immediately jerks back. He laughs when she throws her pillow at him.

“That was low,” Darcy glares, pulling away from his lap. She shifts away when he reaches for her.

“Darce, c’mon. Don’t be like that, doll. Was just playing.” He tries reaching for her again but Darcy stubbornly avoids his hands, draping her legs over the back of the sofa. “’M sorry. I’ll work on your legs too, up to the knee.” Her eyes spark and he coaxes her legs down, shuffling closer until her calves are in his lap. She huffs but says nothing, and Bucky takes the small win for what it is.

Darcy pulls out her phone from her pocket and heaves a sigh. “Three and a half hours until we hit land. That much closer ‘til this nightmare is finally over.”

Bucky nods, but he cannot stop the pang in his chest that squeezes tightly. “Go over the plan.”

Darcy sighs. “Bucky…”

“Indulge me, Darce.”

“Right, okay. First, remotely switch surveillance to the preset so we can sneak down the hall. Wait in the back lobby with the other guests of the ship one hour before we hit land. Take the shuttle to Manhattan…”

Bucky nods as his hands slide up her leggings to start kneading the flesh there with firm, warm movements. Darcy lets out a content little sigh and he glances at her from the corner of his eye. He expects her eyes to be closed but instead she watches him, a gentleness in the way her eyes trace over him.

The nameless, fluttering feeling blooms in his chest again, drifting through him like a soft wave. His hands idly stroke her stockinged shins, trailing to her ankles, then turn to trace up her calves. Words begin tumbling from his lips, ones he couldn’t articulate until now, in this moment of content. “Things were good here. I…liked being here.”

Darcy smiles softly. “Yeah.” She sits up and Bucky tenses, thinking she will slide her legs off his lap, and he has a moment of panic that he shouldn’t have said anything at all. But she stays, simply sitting up and readjusting to lean against the sofa, close enough to him that he can feel her body heat radiating against his metal arm. Running her nails down the shifting plates of his bicep, she murmurs, “We had it good here. No one shooting at us. Free wifi. The food—god, the food,” Darcy says dreamily and Bucky has to nod in agreement. The food was probably the best he’s had in decades. Darcy’s hand trails down his arm in a soothing motion. “Company wasn’t half-bad either.”

Bucky glances at her, the corners of his lips tugging upwards. “I don’t know, doll. Was a loudmouth who kept stealing the blankets at night then throwing them over the mattress.”

“It got hot!” Darcy exclaims defensively.

“Couldn’t’ve let me keep ‘em, at least? Had to throw them overboard?”

“Please. You and I share more than enough warmth to need those blankets of lava. And I can’t be held responsible for what sleep-Darcy does.”

Bucky snorts, shaking her head. “Yeah. It was nice.”

He feels her watching him, eyes lingering on the droop in his shoulders. “I wish it would stay this way, just a little longer. It’s what’s been bugging you, right?”

Bucky shrugs, not meeting her eyes. “It was nice,” he says again, the words he wants to say tied up in his throat. “It won’t be nice like this again.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Darcy stretches before shuffling closer. Bucky’s eyes shutter when he feels her fingers sink into the back of his hair, nails lightly scratching the nape of his neck in the way she knows he likes. “I’ve never met the guy, but I hear Tony Stark is one of those ‘spared at no expense’ types. Once all this shit is cleared up, we can probably wheedle our way into staying the night in one of those penthouse types he’s got every other floor. You know, for our troubles.”

“For not actually killing the king of Wakanda, those troubles?” Bucky says dryly, and Darcy nods back solemnly, keeping a straight face.

“Yep. That. And, you know, being Hydra’s prisoner for seventy odd years. Just the little things like that.” Bucky snorts. “Seriously, Bucky. I’m not afraid to whip out my Political Science degree and defend you to the ends of the earth. This thing? This nightmare you’ve been in and I got a firsthand look of? Of just how—how fucked the governments are? I’m not gonna go down quietly about it.”

Her words hit him hard. Too hard.

“Yes, you will.”

He’s spoken quietly but Darcy’s fingers go still in his hair. “What? No, I’m not.”

Bucky looks at her. “You’re not getting involved in my nightmare more than you already have. The second you’re safe, the second this clears up for _you_ , you’re taking the first flight to England and finishing your degree.”

“What—that’s already fucked, Bucky. I’m past remediation, I’ll have to restart in the fall anyway. I’m staying with you until your name is clear as crystal. I’m not—don’t look at me like that. I can’t believe you think I’m just going to ditch you the second this is over for me.”

“Do you really think I’m going to be internationally excused once we get to the Tower?” Bucky gives her an incredulous look. “In what, a week, two weeks? I have seventy years of bullshit to clear, Darcy, most of which _shouldn’t_ be—”

“What do you mean _shouldn’t be_ —?”

“—and I’ll be lucky if they throw me in isolation, let alone give me a goddamn trial.”

“Is this supposed to convince me to let you go?” Darcy stares at him like he’s lost his mind, fingers tightening in his hair.

“Open your eyes, doll,” Bucky says quietly. “There’s no life for me anymore.”

Darcy’s eyes widen and she goes still, the force behind his words catching the breath in her throat. “This trip is to bring you to Stark and get Hydra off of you. And yeah, maybe something could work out for me. But I know how this goes. I have nothing.”

“You have _me_.” Darcy forces him to meet her gaze, see the way she says it with absolute truth. And he believes it; god, he believes her. But she is wrong.

Bucky forces a smile, shaking his head. “I don’t.”

Her hand falls from his hair and he feels a rush of cool air on his lap when she jerks her knees away. He flinches when Darcy jumps up and looks at him with fury. “No, _fuck_ you, Bucky. You don’t get to decide how I—how I move on from this. I told you before I’m going to clear your fucking name, I’m going to do it. I chose to take your hand and run with you, I got us on this ship, and I’m going to be right there next to you when we get to the Tower. I don’t—I don’t need you telling me to abandon you and just look out for myself. Newsflash: I’ve been looking out for myself the moment we met. I’m not running blindly. I don’t have any illusions of how this is going to work out. But if you think I’m going to sit here quietly while you feel sorry for yourself, about going at it alone and how you don’t think you deserve me helping you _have a life again_ —yeah, that’s what this is, isn’t it? You don’t think you deserve my help. That you don’t…that you don’t deserve…”

He can taste the unspoken words hanging in the air on a wavering precipice, the crux of what they’re dancing around. Darcy’s mouth tightens and she swallows thickly. “Well you can just fuck off with that. You’re stuck with me, Bucky Barnes. We’re a goddamn fucking team.”

Her eyes are shining and the sight shakes him to the core—not even with bullets spraying behind her, hiding in a dusty motel, swimming in a freezing ocean—nothing made her come close to—made her start to—and it’s directly because of him, because of _his_ words, not anything else in the last two weeks—and within seconds he’s standing, walking, stopping in front of her.

Darcy tries to turn away, to hide her face with that curtain of hair of hers that he’s run his hand through dozens of time since the first night in the _Tea House_. Bucky grips her shoulders and stops her, pulling her forward so she faces him. Panic floods him when she won’t look at him; this is Darcy, and _this_ , he’s the reason for this and he’s responsible for this and he didn’t know until right this moment that he never wants to see her upset like this; not because of _him_. “I’m sorry,” Bucky says hoarsely, and Darcy’s eyes flicker up to meet his. Tears collect in her eyes but they haven’t fallen and she frowns, the little knit in her brow showing her frustration and anger and abject worry. He drops his forehead against hers, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

She reaches for him and the moment her arms are around his neck Bucky shudders, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her tight, burrowing his face in her hair. Darcy hums when he pulls her up and close enough that her toes brush against the floor, supported wholly by Bucky’s arms.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Darcy’s voice is muffled against him, and her fingers tighten in his sweater. “Let me stay. Let me help. I know this is your choice, I can’t—I won’t do anything you don’t want, it’s your life—”

“Stay.” Bucky pulls away slightly to peer down at her. A few tears managed to escape and Bucky wipes them away from her cheeks quickly, agitatedly. “I don’t understand it. Why you want to help someone like me. But, if you want…I want…”

Darcy’s hand slides up to rest against his jaw. “What do you want? What do _you_ want, Bucky?”

He swallows hard and tightens his grip on her waist. “Stay with me.”

Darcy nods solemnly and leans back into him with a sigh. “We’re going to kick so much ass.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t know how long this will take. I don’t want you missing school because of me.”

“We’ll climb that mountain when we get there. Fall term won’t start until October anyway so that’s like, a solid three month buffer.”

“I don’t know if I’m worth all this, Darcy.”

Darcy pulls back to look at him sharply. “Goonies never say die, Bucky.”

“I don’t know what that means…”

“You will, my friend. Just you wait.”

Bucky sighs, his resolve crumbling even further when Darcy draws him back against her. “It won’t be safe, doll. Nothing with me is safe.”

Darcy snorts. “You know I work with Jane, right? I’ve kicked Dark Elf ass.”

“Still don’t know what that means,” Bucky mumbles, lips twitching when he feels her laugh against him.

“I’ll show a video Shield got on me later. I was awesome.” Too soon Darcy’s pulling away again and Bucky nearly whines. She gives him a firm look. “I know you’re worried. I’m worried. This shit is…it’s really bad. But we’re in this together, okay? I need you to start believing that, or else we’re gonna have a lot more of these and I don’t like crying but you’re just so damn _frustrating_ sometimes.” She pokes him hard on the shoulder for emphasis. “Those were angry tears, by the way. Don’t let them fool you.”

“Wouldn’t dream to,” Bucky says, letting her warmth and her closeness fill his mind, basking in their comfort. It doesn’t silence the sheer terror in the back of his mind that she will be hurt, inevitably, by this. He doesn’t want this for her. She deserves so much more than the uncertainty that lies ahead. And just the thought…the idea of Darcy hurt, Darcy shot, Darcy held in any capacity as he’s been by Hydra….It makes his eyes darken and tug her closer until she complains about needing to breathe, and even when he lets up a little, Bucky can’t let go of her.

But for now, there is this. There is Bucky and Darcy. They are a team, and she wants to stay with him until the end. To fight beside him, in their separate but equally powerful ways. _Like Steve_ , he thinks as he peers down at her. Her lips twist up in a radiant smile and the redness of her eyes and her cheeks makes his heart clench.

Darcy is different. Steve, but not Steve.

He prefers it this way.

**-:-**

As planned, they head to the lobby an hour before the ship reaches the New York coast. They’re surrounded by sleepy, suitcase-ridden guests all leaning against walls or sitting in chairs. Darcy holds her phone aloft in her hand in case someone asks them for identification, but it doesn’t look like the staff are concerned with it, focused more on keeping things in order.

Darcy and Bucky are sitting in the very back, hidden by dozens of occupied chairs and a strategically placed Ficus plant. Bucky hasn’t let go of her hand since they stepped out of their suite, and is stroking his thumb against her skin in idle circles.

She thinks it’s guilt, the way he won’t let go of her or stroke up her arm comfortingly, or smooth her hair back from her face and carefully tucking it behind her ear. Bucky hasn’t been shy to touch her since their first hug, and often found ways to hold her in some way (not that she’s complaining—she can’t imagine anyone would). But she can tell this is his way of apologizing again—and again—as if overcompensating. Darcy didn’t think he would be this affected by her minor outburst, and she had noticed the second something in him fractured when he saw Darcy upset.

Maybe it’s guilt, or a frantic need to make her stay. She knows it’s a conflict warring inside him, wanting Darcy far away from him for her own safety but desperately wanting her to stay, to help. She feels for the guy, she really does. But Darcy has plans, and none of them include turning tail and running.

Darcy glances up at him and Bucky turns to look down at her, smiling softly. She squeezes his hand, and Bucky squeezes back, flexing his fingers against hers.

“You ready?”

Bucky inhales slowly, raking his lower lip with his teeth. Darcy tries not to get distracted by that. “Yeah. You?”

“Yep. We’re gonna have to hustle, though. Which normally would put me off, but,” Darcy shrugs. She narrow her eyes when she notices Bucky isn’t paying attention. “What?” Bucky glares in the distance and slips his hand away from Darcy’s only to wrap around her waist and tug her flush against him.

“Blue shirt, twelve o’clock,” Bucky mutters, fingers pressing into her hip. “Hasn’t stopped staring at your for the last five minutes. Possibly compromised.”

Darcy pauses, then feigns a stretch. Her eyes dart over to Bucky’s directions and catches sight of the guy immediately. He winks at her before taking a slow sip of water from a bottle.

Darcy stifles a laugh, pressing her lips together and nudging Bucky in the ribs. “You can unclench now. Not that type of threat.” Bucky glances at her skeptically before returning his glare to blue shirt guy. “I mean sure, the overprotective boyfriend angle works, but it’s a waste of energy.” She pats him on the knee. “Guy’s not my type.”

She lets Bucky process that by himself as she pulls out her own bottle and takes a generous swig of water. He shakes his head vaguely when she offers it to him, and she shrugs.

When Bucky’s fingers flex at her hip, fiddling with the hem of her cardigan and brushing it aside, Darcy pauses. Her heart stutters a beat when she feels warm fingers trace around the edge of her shirt before slipping underneath, idly stroking her skin with feather light touches and sending sparks across her nerves. She stops breathing altogether when she hears him ask quietly, “What is your type, then?”

Darcy looks up at Bucky. His face gives away nothing except the way he looks at her is like she’s the only one in the lobby. They haven’t broached this, haven’t come nearly close to this other than the lingering affection they openly share. It’s been building, whatever this thing is, and it’s a game Darcy didn’t think Bucky would ever acknowledge. Neither did Darcy—she’d made sure of it.

But somehow now, acknowledging this thing after the emotional exchange they’d had hours ago, shifts Darcy’s thoughts on it. Because he’s not avoiding it, not with the way his fingers innocently but unmistakably draw patterns along her waist.

A slow smile spreads across Darcy’s face and she mimes a zip over her lips.

The ship gives a lurch and Darcy grabs Bucky’s thigh, heart racing in her chest. Bucky’s arm tightens around her as his eyes dart around. “We’re slowing down.”

Darcy nods, exhaling slowly to calm the rapid beat of her heart. “This is it, then.”

Darcy’s heart continues to thud anxiously as the motors groan beneath them and they slow to a gradual stop. Shouldering their packs, Darcy and Bucky blend with the crowd as they begin to depart from the ship, a long line wrapping around the lobby and into the hall.

To Darcy’s relief it goes off without a hitch, and she takes in a lungful of air once they step off the platform and onto the docks. It tastes sharp and coppery against her tongue, pollution thick in the air. Her legs are a little unsteady but Bucky’s right there holding onto her, guiding them quickly towards the line of shuttle buses waiting at the curb.

They board a bus and sit near the back. Bucky fiddles with one of the straps on his pack and Darcy can’t stop moving, shaking her leg or wringing her hands, casting wary glances at anyone who climbs into the bus.

“Relax,” Bucky says quietly.

“I’m fine,” Darcy mutters.

“It’s a half hour ride. There’s four emergency exits.”

Darcy nods distractedly. Bucky watches her silently for a few more moments before saying, “Where’s the taser?”

Her eyes flicker to his. “My bag.”

“Hold it.”

Darcy’s eyes widen before whispering, “You can’t carry a taser in New York.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Not saying take it out. Just hold onto it. Keep it inside your bag.”

Darcy looks at him skeptically before slipping her hand inside her bag and feeling for the rectangular plastic she’s familiar with. When her fingers graze against it she wraps her hand around it, finger automatically slipping over the trigger. Darcy sighs quietly.

“Feels good?” Bucky asks. Darcy nods silently. “Feel better?”

Darcy nods again before twisting up to look at him. “It feels…safe,” she admits. “How’d you know that would work?”

Bucky smiles wryly. “Forgot the first day on the ship already?”

Darcy looks away for a moment as the memory resurfaces, of Bucky sitting in the living room with a gun in his hand. _It gives me control_. “Huh,” Darcy says vaguely. “Well that’s just ironic.”

Despite the pitch dark outside the bus Bucky keeps a watchful eye, keeping track of the streets and the stops. The closer they reach the inner city the brighter it becomes, until Darcy squints at the city lights and the blaring noise outside.

Darcy zips her bag and holds it tight when the bus comes to another slow stop, and Bucky nods at her.

“Ugh,” Darcy groans when they get off and are hit with the entirety of the city. “I definitely haven’t missed this.”

“You been here before?” Bucky clips his pack in front of his chest, adjusting the straps on his shoulders until he is settled.

“Ages ago.” Darcy wrinkles her nose. “Must be different from what you remember, of course.”

“You could say that,” Bucky takes a moment to look around, looking as perplexed as any amnesiac ex-assassin would be expected to be. Darcy loops her arm around his and pulls him forward.

“We’ll admire modern architecture next time,” Darcy glances at the street sign. “Okay, so the Avengers tower should be about four blocks from here? Not so bad.”

Bucky says nothing. They walk quickly and briskly and Darcy can’t help but appreciate at least this aspect of the city; nobody gives a shit and nobody looks at you twice, let alone once. Despite it nearing midnight the streets are as crowded as they would be in the daylight. She’s relieved at the small cover they’re afforded.

When they hit block three Darcy allows herself a shred of hope. “Are we actually going to pull this off?”

“No.” At Darcy’s confused look, Bucky glances at her briefly. “We’ve been followed the last two blocks.”

Darcy nearly comes to a stop if not for the tight grip Bucky’s arm had around hers, urging her forward. “Shit.”

Bucky nods, tense. “We have to shake ‘em off. Take out your taser.”

Darcy licks her lips and follows Bucky when he steers them through a well-lit alley, subtly shifting her bag to take out her taser. They make a few turns and she nearly thinks they’ve succeeded when Bucky freezes.

Quick as lightning Bucky pushes Darcy against the side of building and covers her as he whips out a gun.

“Easy, Barnes. Not here to hurt you.” Darcy clutches the fabric of Bucky’s jacket as she peers over his shoulder. A woman, a few years older than Darcy with dark hair and a slight frown, stands before them.

Bucky flicks off the safety and Darcy gasps when seven red dots appear on Bucky’s chest.

“I wouldn’t do that,” the woman says with a raised brow. “You weren’t easy to find, you know.”

She feels Bucky trembling against her chest, coming to the same conclusion she does: there’s no escape. Not with seven guns trained on their heads. They miscalculated, they were so _foolish_ to think it would be this simple. “Four goddamn blocks,” Darcy mutters under her breath. Bucky subtly presses his back further against her.

“When I start, run.”

Darcy doesn’t have time to ask, to process this when Bucky drops his arms and tosses the gun. Darcy gapes at first but then sees the woman signal something. The red dots disappear and a small squadron emerges from the shadows, swiftly approaching.

When they’re near enough, their guns lowering, Bucky moves.

She doesn’t have time to properly admire it. She’d seen a glimpse of this side of Bucky the night they met, first when he’d taken out the two goons who’d followed her out of the _Tea House_ , second whilst hiding under a dumpster and seeing only a flurry of footwork and bodies crashing to the ground around Bucky’s feet one by one.

This is much of the same. He moves with precision and deadly aim, a heaviness yet agility of form taking over Bucky’s body. It’s as if he transforms into someone else, his presence becoming larger, deadlier.

He’s taken out three men in all of ten seconds when Darcy turns on her heel and runs.

Run—run where?—Darcy’s feet pound on the pavement but she doesn’t stop. She glances back and sees Bucky straining against two men before kicking bodily in the air and throwing them off. She hates this—she won’t leave him and go too far, the whole point was to _save_ his sorry ass—Darcy shrieks when a tac gear guy nearly runs into her.

Darcy kicks him hard and he grabs her hair, yanking her so her head would knock into the brick wall next to them. “Oh no you—don’t!” Darcy whirls around using all of her body weight, spinning them so his head cracks against the wall instead. His hand falls from her hair as he crumples to the ground.

“Asshole—” Darcy kicks him again for posterity, “you pulled out my hair! This shit’s delicate! Do you have any idea how long I’ve been growing it out?”

Darcy rubs gingerly at her scalp and turns around. Relief washes over her when she sees Bucky running towards her.

“Jesus,” Darcy breathes when he’s close enough to hear, “that was literally less than three minutes, Bucky. Holy shit.”

“Are you okay?” Bucky’s eyes dart over her face and clothes checking for injury, hands flitting over her. His eyes flicker to Darcy’s rumpled hair and then at the guy passed out on the ground.

“Asshole grabbed my hair. I kicked his ass.”

“You did, doll,” Bucky gently pats down Darcy’s hair and soothes her tender scalp. Darcy’s stomach flutters when Bucky presses a soft kiss there before taking her hand. “Let’s go.”

“Was it Hydra?” Darcy asks breathlessly as they weave through the alleys.

“Don’t know. Don’t give a shit.”

“Fair enough,” Darcy agrees. “That lady—she said how hard it was to find us. How’d they find us so quickly?”

Bucky shakes his head, clenching his jaw. They turn a corner and Darcy recoils when she sees that brown-haired woman again, looking decidedly less patient with a split lip. “I tried making this easy,” is all she says before Bucky and Darcy are yanked apart.

It takes four men to keep Bucky still and two to level off Darcy’s thrashing. The brown-haired woman presses two fingers to her ear pierce and mutters, “We found them. Tell Rogers. Four minutes until we reach—”

She’s cut short when a bullet rips through her shoulder and she staggers back in surprise. Bucky goes still, glancing at Darcy with eyes blown wide with panic. The men holding them drop their hands and immediately fall in a defensive formation. In two steps Bucky’s at Darcy’s side as the woman sidles next to them, pressing a bloodied hand to her shoulder. “Get me a coordinate, Wilson.”

“What the fuck is this?” Bucky growls at the brown-haired woman, eyeing her and the other men suspiciously.

She looks at Bucky wearily. “Hydra, Barnes.” She glances over at Darcy. “Don’t you wish you’d just come with us the first time?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The other shoe's finally dropped. Gonna be rough here on out...the fluff was there for a reason, my friends....  
> (Not too rough though)(I won't draw this out)(our two dorks will be safe I promise)
> 
> I know it's a little confusing right now at the end but I promise it'll clear up by the next chapter and it'll all make sense. :)
> 
> The response to this fic is overwhelming. I hit 1k kudos a few weeks back and couldn't believe it. You all are awesome. 
> 
> Until chapter 10 xxx


	10. Chapter 10

**-:-**  
****  
**After the war we said we'd fight together**  
**I guess we thought that's just what humans do**  
**Letting darkness grow**  
**As if we need it's palette and we need it's color**  
**But now I've seen it through**  
**And now I know the truth**  
**That anything could happen  
** **Anything could happen.**

  **\--** Anything Could Happen,  _Ellie Goulding_

**-:-**

** Chapter 10 **

Darcy’s first instinct is to firmly grab Bucky’s hand and hiss, “Let’s go.”

The woman—whoever the hell she is—stops them short. “Didn’t you hear what I just said? _Hydra_ —”

“Lady, we don’t know who you are and you just had seven guns pointed at Bucky’s chest,” Darcy growls, and in an unconscious move she shifts so she stands in front of Bucky. The woman’s eyes flicker to where their hands are tightly linked. “For all we know, you’re all Hydra.”

“ICERs. They were stun guns, and we’re not—I’m not Hydra, but there’s no real time to explain and we have to get you _out of here_ —yes, Rogers, he’s _here_.” The woman snaps into her earpiece. Bucky stiffens behind her. Darcy narrows her eyes.

“You knew Hydra was tailing us?” Darcy demands.

The woman presses a hand against her shoulder again with a wince. “Everybody is tailing you. _We’re_ trying to get you out and give you a chance.”

Bucky is unusually silent but Darcy can’t focus on that, thinking only of getting as far away from this alley as possible. “Sorry if we don’t believe you. It’s been real, but we’ve got a tower to scale.”

The woman’s eyes widen in alarm. “Stark? You want to see _Stark?_ ”

But Bucky is tugging Darcy’s hand and they quickly maneuver around the woman, who becomes distracted when a slew of Hydra agents appear before her line of armed agents. Still, she manages to glance back and shout, “Don’t go to Stark! Don’t—”

She feels Bucky shaking through their clasped hands as they weave through the alleyways. It’s almost painfully tight and Darcy says between pants, “Can you ease up?”

Bucky glances down at their hands then quickly releases her in favor of gripping her elbow, pulling her steadfastly next to him. They have to stop a few times when a few straggling Hydra agents follow after them (they were after _them_ , after all, not fake-Shield’s people), but Bucky disposes of them quickly and efficiently before taking Darcy’s arm again.

Darcy frowns as she takes in their bearings and the way Bucky’s cutting across buildings. “This isn’t the way to the Tower.”

Bucky replies, “We’re not going there.”

Darcy scowls and tries pulling away from his hand on her arm. “Is there a change of plans here you want to fill me in on?”

Bucky doesn’t answer. They stop in front of a fire escape and Bucky doesn’t have to reach very high to yank down the ladder. He climbs first, then gestures for Darcy to follow. Gritting her teeth, Darcy does.

He presses his hand against the topmost window where the stairs end, as if listening. Then he pulls back his metal hand and shatters the glass.

“Jesus!” Darcy jumps in surprise, her hands clinging tightly to the iron bars of the stairwell.

“Wait here.” Bucky disappears inside the window. Darcy crawls up the last three steps to reach the top of the fire escape, kneeling next to the window and out of sight. Nervously she checks below and breathes a sigh of relief when the alley remains blissfully empty.

Bucky’s head pops out of the window and he holds out his hands. “It’s clear.”

Darcy’s knees shake with strain when she climbs to her feet. She’s angry, not liking Bucky’s cryptic behavior and refusal to tell her what the hell is going on, but not angry enough to turn down his help over the shattered window. He holds her steadfastly as she climbs one leg over the sill. “Watch the glass,” he mutters against her and she does her damnedest to avoid them, but Bucky is too anxious and impatient to have her see it through on her own. He pulls Darcy against him and lifts up at her waist, carrying her over the pool of broken glass before setting her back down on the floor.

“Good?” Bucky asks as if he isn’t already checking her again if she got hurt, and Darcy places her hands over the hands that still linger on her waist. He’s making it hard for Darcy to stay mad at him, not when Bucky is being so tender with her.

“I’m fine, honestly.” She squeezes his hands, reminding him, grounding him. “Come on, Bucky. What are we doing here?”

Bucky looks down at their joined hands. “Steve’s here. And his friend—Wilson. I remember fighting him, when I was still…” Darcy doesn’t have to hear it to know what he’s referring to.

“Rogers and Wilson? They’re who that lady was talking to?” Darcy furrows her brow. “She’s working with them? Then why were they trying to take us? Why couldn’t she have just said so?”

Bucky gives a noncommittal shrug as his fingers idly thread through hers. “Didn’t exactly have time to tell a whole life story in the three minutes we’ve known her. Makes sense to take us in first, explain later. Strategy.”

“A weird strategy, but if you say so. That doesn’t explain why…”

“From what I can tell Hydra’s been following them—Shield, whatever it is they are that Steve’s tangled himself up with. They found us first, Hydra followed the trail. The woman warned us against going to Stark’s Tower, now what does that tell you?”

Darcy looks away for a moment, the pieces slowly falling together. “There’s a third entity. Steve’s party, Hydra, and Tony Stark’s party.” Bucky nodded. “I’m gonna guess Stark won’t exactly give us a warm welcome if we show up right now, then.”

“Oh he’ll be pleased, alright,” Bucky mutters darkly.

“Damn it! So what the hell do we do? What are we supposed to do?” Frustration bleeds into Darcy’s voice and Bucky’s right there, sliding his hands up her arms and pulling her closer, until all she feels is his warmth and the soft puff of his breath, and the long strands of his hair brushing against her face.

“Outside this room is the stairwell that leads to roof access. I’m going to pick off the Hydra agents targeting Steve’s people at our vantage point.”

Darcy peers into his eyes, reading the unspoken conclusion. “You think he’s nearby?” Bucky nods quietly. Darcy doesn’t realize she’s holding onto his waist until her fingers curl tightly into his jacket. “Guess that lady was right. Might’ve been easier to just go with her after all.”

“When we go up,” Bucky continues, “I want you to wait inside until it’s clear.”

“What?” Darcy immediately tries to pull back but Bucky’s hold on her is firm, keeping her close. “No, I’m staying by you!”

“It’s not safe,” Bucky says flatly. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Then I can _help_.”

“I’m not sending a civilian in a firefight, Darcy,” Bucky snaps. “Do you know how terrified I was when that woman got shot through her vest? That could’ve been you! I didn’t see, didn’t even fucking notice we were being targeted roofside—that could’ve been _you._ ”

“Hey,” Darcy says softly, now offering him comfort in the same way he had, running her hands gently up and down his sides before pulling him into a proper embrace. “Hey, I’m okay. I’m right here, totally not shot. Not even a shard of glass on me.” She smiles up at him, hoping to see the tension ease off him a little, but his frown is deeply set and her words only unsettle him more.

“This is exactly what I meant before on the ship. It’s not safe with me, you should just—”

“Just what? What is this magical third option we have?” Darcy shakes her head, ducking down and forcing Bucky to meet her eyes when he tries looking away. “I’m _with_ you, okay? Whatever happens. And right now the safest place I can be is with you.”

Bucky swallows hard. “Stay inside,” he repeats quietly. “I’ll come get you when it’s done and we’ll…we’ll get out of here.”

“You’re going to be alone.” Darcy looks away, and Bucky’s arms tighten around her. “I don’t like that either, you know. It’s not safe for me, it’s not safe for _you_.”

“I’m trained for this, doll. Or have you forgotten who I am?” He gives her a small smirk, the first smile he’s cracked since they reached New York.

Darcy’s lips quirk up in a soft smile. “I don’t think I could ever forget you.”

Something darkens in Bucky’s eyes and it nearly steals her breath; he leans forward the small inch of space to press their foreheads together.

“You’re not Steve,” he says under his breath, like a small reminder to himself, a mantra he might’ve repeated when Darcy couldn’t overhear. She imagines it sounds something close to relief.

Darcy huffs a laugh. “No, I’m definitely not Steve.”

Before Darcy can react Bucky pulls away a fraction, staring searchingly into her eyes. Then his fingers are slipping into her hair, his hands cupping the underside of her jaw. Her heart stutters a beat when Bucky tilts his head and presses a soft, lingering kiss on Darcy’s cheek.

He moves away faster than Darcy would have liked but it’s just as well—a sudden sound of gunshots snaps them out of their stolen moment. Bucky is a soldier once more, muscles locking in place and stepping away from Darcy to open his pack.

Bucky arms himself with more munition than Darcy thought he was carrying and then turns to her, holding out his hand. Darcy doesn’t hesitate to slip hers into it.

**-:-**

He expects it to start, the words in his head so deeply ingrained. Words he’s fought to stop, to silence before they can begin, an incessant dance between man and asset.

When he marks his first Hydra agent, the words don’t come. Not after the second, the third, until he’s arms deep with dropping bodies hitting the pavement. He doesn’t kill them, no—he won’t do that, not anymore. But he makes sure they won’t lift a weapon for a long, long time.

Why don’t the words start? Bucky holds a knife between his teeth as he reaches for ammo in his utility pocket. When was the last time he even heard them? When was the last time he considered an action a mission statement? A threat assessment? The last time was…the last time…

An image of Darcy’s face, smiling and surrounded by sunlight, presents itself in the recesses of Bucky’s mind. A little bit after meeting her, he realizes in wonder, and the thought makes Bucky’s hands a little steadier, his aim a little sharper, if such a thing were even possible.

The team working alongside the woman—Steve’s team, Bucky considers vaguely—seems to realize they’re getting covered. He doesn’t think they realize it’s _him_ exactly, but they take the gift for what it is and start fighting back with more resolve than they had moments ago.

He pauses, watching as the crowd below fights down the remaining Hydra agents. More are sure to come soon, as they always do.

The woman—he doesn’t know who she is but the way he saw her retaliate against Hydra’s forces was impressive enough to earn a little respect on his end—takes a breath, then turns her gaze to the roofs. He could’ve hid, if he wanted to. But he hikes the gun in his hand against his shoulder, staring down at the woman. He sees a half-nod of acknowledgement before she turns away and presses her fingers against her ear.

Bucky finally pulls away from the rooftop ledge and flicks the safety back on his gun, shoving it in a holster against his hip. Quick, sure movements bring him to the roof access door and he yanks it open. Darcy’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, laptop in tow. Bucky’s silhouette casts a shadow over her and she looks up.

A wide smile splits over her face and she quickly closes the laptop, then jumps to her feet. “Not so bad,” Darcy murmurs, looking Bucky up and down as if searching for any bullet wounds. “You’re fast.”

“I’m efficient,” Bucky shrugs, feeling a smile crawl on his face at the way her eyes light up.

“I heard. You know pressure points.” Her voice is lilted and teasing and it makes him soar, wanting to pull her close again but he refrains, knowing they don’t have that kind of time. “I checked Tony Stark while you were out there,” Darcy tells him, looking worried. “There’s so much red tape around him and the Avengers, and the whole thing with Wakanda? God I wish I looked into it deeper while on the ship; there’s this thing, the Sokovian Accords—”

A loud crunch drags their attention to the roof. Instinctively Bucky covers her, standing directly in front of Darcy as a winged figure touches down on the roof.

Darcy squints behind Bucky. “Is that—Falcon? Avenger Falcon?”

“Wilson,” Bucky mutters, watching the man make a circle to take in his surroundings.

“He’s with Steve, right? He’s on our side.”

Bucky looks over his shoulder to look at Darcy. “Is that how you see it? On our side?”

Darcy shrugs. “They’re not Hydra, so not trying to kill us. They’re not the government that has a kill order on you, or take you in without a trial.”

Bucky considers this with a small frown.

“You two planning on stepping out?”

Bucky’s frown deepens as Wilson folds his arms over his chest, his eyes covered with red techy goggles. “Hey man, just following the tipoff you gave Hill. Seems like you wanted to talk.”

“You planning on talking with your fists, dude?” Darcy shouts back, surprising Bucky when she moves to stand in front of him. He tries to move her back behind him but she stubbornly bats his hands away. “Seriously, the wings? You’re not inspiring much confidence here.”

Bucky watches, amazed, when Wilson shifts as if embarrassed. The metal wings fold down smartly into the pack strapped to his back.

“Sorry,” Wilson rubs the back of his head sheepishly. His expression turns serious when he looks back at Darcy. “I’m Sam. Part-time Avenger, but from what I heard it sounds like you already know that. You’re safe now,” Darcy snorts softly, but Sam continues firmly, “you can step forward and away from Barnes. I have you covered, believe me.”

Bucky feels Darcy stiffen in front of him. It takes him a second to realize she’s gone livid.

“You think I’m in danger from _him?_ ” Darcy tosses her thumb back at Bucky’s chest. “I’m sorry. But who the fuck do you think you are?”

Sam’s lips twitch in amusement, which only serves to make Darcy angrier. Bucky gently pulls her back against him protectively, hands circling her waist.

“Yeah, Foster said you’d say something like that.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to look at Sam sharply. Darcy’s breath catches in her throat, her words layered with confusion and the smallest spark of hope. “Y-you talked to Jane? Is she okay? When did you see her?”

“Two nights ago,” Sam’s voice is soft, placating. Darcy’s hand comes up to grip Bucky’s tightly, seeking comfort that he readily gives, lacing their fingers together tightly. Bucky doesn’t miss Sam’s eyes catching the gesture, and his gaze turns thoughtful.

“But is she okay? What—what did you say to her?”

Sam does not reply; a loud crash and a series of thuds echoing from the stairwell distracts all three of them. Bucky backs away from the roof and drags Darcy with him, standing near Sam now.

“That better not be a straggling Hydra agent,” Darcy mutters darkly.

Sam snorts. “Definitely not Hydra. Cap likes his grand entrances.”

Bucky whips his head back to the roof access door and sees a flash blue—he staggers back a little into Darcy when Steve stumbles onto the roof from the stairwell, panting and looking slightly worse for wear.

The four stand in silence for several moments. Bucky’s eyes are locked on Steve, words stuck in his throat at the sight of him again—his friend, he reminds himself.

“Bucky,” Steve says finally.

Bucky inhales slowly, taking in Steve’s countenance, his straight-backed stance, the tiny fretful frown curling on one side of his mouth. The question is clear.

“I didn’t do it,” Bucky says quietly.

Steve nods. “Lot of people think you did.”

Darcy shifts behind Bucky, making herself more visible. “Good thing he has a witness, then.”

Steve’s eyes dart to her, then to Sam. “Ross knows there’s been a Hydra scuffle. Tony’s on his way.”

“Roger that,” Sam nods and his metal wings spring back to life. “West forty-sixth street, six minutes.” Without another word he sprints to the ledge of the roof and jumps off, soaring expertly in the air before taking off.

“I’m just gonna take a wild guess that Tony knowing we’re here isn’t a good thing for you either,” Darcy drawls.

Steve’s lips twitch. “No, ma’am. We really don’t want to run into him right now. It would make things…difficult.” He looks back at Bucky, who’s gone unnaturally still. “We have to go.”

Steve’s comm crackles loudly. “ _Vehicle secured. All on you now, Cap_.”

Steve looks back at him. “Bucky,” he repeats. It almost sounds pleading.

“Yeah,” Bucky says finally, wrapping his hand around Darcy’s and feeling her answering squeeze. “Let’s go.”

**-:-**

He’s silent and still throughout the car ride to wherever it is Steve and Sam are taking them. Darcy keeps glancing at Bucky worriedly, but there isn’t much she can do right now. He’d taken her hand the moment they were settled inside the car, but hasn’t done anything else since. It would worry her if his thumb wasn’t stroking her skin throughout the journey.

They pull into a dilapidated house several miles past the New York border, and Bucky huffs softly. He waits until they’re out of the car before turning to Steve and saying, “Paramus? Really, punk? Jersey?”

“Hey, it’s worked so far,” Steve cracks a smile and the palpable tension that had been between them lessens fractionally, something warm in the way they look at each other.

The safe house itself is nice in an old, crumbly sort of way—at least it is on the outside. Darcy is surprised to see updated modeling once she steps inside; nothing significant, but something far more livable than what the exterior boasts.

She’s also surprised to see a few people awake and sitting inside. Most of them she doesn’t recognize. Bucky carefully steers them both away from the living room and lingers instead near the stairs.

Steve sidles next to them, a heavy look about him. “We have a lot to discuss.” Steve’s gaze traces over them, taking in their weary expressions and the evidence of the hell they’ve been through on their clothing and dishevelment. “We have time, though. It can wait until the morning. You two…get some rest.”

“Do you by any chance have the Sokovian Accord contract?” Darcy asks him. Steve is taken aback at her question but recovers quickly.

“Yeah, it’s in my bag. I can show you, if you’d like?”

“That’d be really helpful,” Darcy smiles gratefully.

After handing Darcy the contract Steve shows them to an empty room, and promptly backs away when Bucky sends a fierce glare when he asks if they’ll be sleeping in separate rooms. Darcy tugs Bucky inside the bedroom and Bucky closes it firmly behind her.

“Ugh,” Darcy faceplants into the mattress. “I never want to move again.”

Bucky snorts and reaches for the pack still on her shoulders, sliding it off gently. Darcy twists her body and sits up a little. “Wait,” Darcy stills him, quickly unzipping a small pocket on the pack and pulling out the bottle of Dramamine. “Won’t need _this_ anymore,” she says with a mischievous glint in her eye before tossing the bottle square into the waste basket on the other side of the room.

“You really hated taking that,” Bucky says mildly, dropping the bag on the floor.

“I hated having seasickness. I don’t need any more reminders of that nonsense.”

“Fair enough.” Bucky pauses when he sees her pull off her jacket, then whirls away when she throws off her shirt. “Uh, Darcy…”

“Oh come on, you’ve seen me undress a dozen times by now,” he hears her shuffling inside her pack for a fresh pair of clothes. Bucky swallows thickly when he hears her unzip her jeans and shuck them off. “Don’t tell me my big scary Brooklyn boy is afraid of a little skin?”

Her teasing tone settles over Bucky in a way it really shouldn’t, not if he was a good man—or anything close to the Bucky Barnes he used to be once. But he isn’t, not really, so he turns around just as Darcy’s pulling a shirt over her head—his mouth goes dry when he sees a flash of her bra, the barest hint of her breasts before it’s covered, and his eyes skim over to her stomach, then the soft skin of her legs that he’s run his hands over more times than he can count. She’s right—he _has_ seen her like this dozens of times, but it’s different now. Something is different.

Darcy gives a knowing smirk as she pulls on a pair of sleep shorts and settles back onto the bed. Bucky gives no outward reaction except for reaching for the hem of his own shirt and pulling it off along with his jacket.

Her face is tinged slightly pink as her eyes dart over him from where she’s lying down on the bed, watching him change into something that could pass for sleepwear. She shifts when he crawls onto the bed, pulling back the sheets for the both of them before settling behind her. Automatically Bucky wraps his arm around her middle and pulls her close against his chest, the same he’s done the last five days.

He hears Darcy sigh contentedly. “I love when you do that.”

“Do what?” Bucky asks curiously.

“You know…this,” her hand closes around the metal one against her abdomen, linking their fingers together and pulling his hand to her sternum as if embracing it. “Holding me. It feels really good.”

Bucky doesn’t speak for a few seconds, struggling to find his voice. He didn’t think this was something they’d ever mutually acknowledge, let alone say out loud. He’s thought it, of course he’s thought of this—not thinking it would be a crime against his slowly healing sanity. “Does it really?”

Darcy pauses, then releases his hand to turn around and face him. “Of course it does,” she says softly. “If it didn’t I wouldn’t keep doing it, now, would I?” Bucky shakes his head slowly. Darcy bites her lip, and Bucky watches in fascination when she blushes prettily, the second time tonight. “I like when you hold me close…hug me. It feels safe…warm.”

Her eyes meet his in the dim moonlight, conveying words he only dared to believe in his dreams. But no, they’d been reaching this—approaching this thing slowly, carefully, until it was palpable. And now Darcy looks at him in a way that cannot be misinterpreted, and he almost doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Almost.

Like a door gently opening in the recesses of his mind, Bucky moves on pure, physical instinct. Softly, he reaches up to run his fingers through her hair, caressing her scalp until her eyes shutter closed. He runs his hand gently down her arm, brushing his fingers against hers before trailing along her wrist, the inside of her elbow, and back into her hair. Testing what he already did hours ago next to the shattered window, Bucky cups her jaw and presses a tender kiss against Darcy’s cheek. Her answering sigh and involuntary shift to be closer to him makes Bucky move with her, wanting her as close as she would have him.

“Do you like it?” His breath fans softly over her, the tenor of his voice stirring heat through her veins. His hand trails from her neck down to her collar bone, traveling slowly, lazily, on the side of the swell of her breast. She shivers, and Bucky’s eyes darken. “When I touch you?”

“Yes.” Darcy’s reply is nothing more than a breathless admission, but it’s sincere. He can read it in her eyes. “I really like it.” Her heart swells at the smile he gives her; soft, full of desire. Desire for her. “What about you, soldier boy?” Darcy lifts her hand to cup his jaw, brushing over the coarse hair over his skin. “You like it when I touch you?”

Bucky bites his lower lip, eyes shuttering when her nails scritch the underside of his jaw. He nods silently, leaning into her hand. “Like a lot of things about you,” he admits softly.

Darcy grins. “Aw. You have a crush on me.”

A blush blooms on Darcy’s cheeks when Bucky pins her with a burning stare, his arm curling around her waist until she’s pulled up flush against him, chest to chest. “You’re everything to me.”

He says it simply, and it makes it all the more devastatingly wonderful. “Oh,” Darcy breathes, “you’re never going to get rid of me now. Never, ever.”

Their foreheads touch, exhaling and inhaling slowly. Limbs shift and slide against the mattress, pulling closer, entwined as they would be if they were still on the cruise ship, the mornings of entanglement and soft breaths. He doesn’t move forward, though, doesn’t close the two inch gap between them, suddenly hesitant when Darcy knows he wants this as badly as she does.

So Darcy does what comes to mind first. She presses a gentle, reassuring kiss under his jaw. Bucky inhales sharply, going still under her ministrations as his eyes seek hers. Darcy kisses his chin, his cheek; little soft pecks that have him unfolding and sighing and wrapping his arms around her as far as they would go. It’s the soft kiss at the corner of his mouth that finally does him in, as Bucky turns his head to meet Darcy’s mouth with his.

It’s a gentle pressure at first, a soft press of lips against lips. Darcy feels it in her heart, the way it stutters and soars, to the spread of warmth and electricity that crackles down her skin from her fingertips to her toes. They sigh quietly against their mouths, moving slowly, almost reverently.

Bucky pulls back, enough to look at her again. Whatever he sees reassures him, for a dizzying smile so warm and full of light and affection nearly blinds her, making Darcy giddy and giving him a sunny, breathless smile of her own. He looks at her like he’s relieved, as if he can’t quite believe he can have this thing, this one good thing that’s all his, finally something he can have without fear. Bucky laughs a little, still smiling when he kisses her again.

His lips slide over Darcy’s in a soft caress, warm pecks sipping at Darcy’s lips until she hums softly against his mouth, tilting her head and sinking her hand into his hair to draw him closer, deeper. She feels him pull her leg over his hip and she follows, shifting against him as their kiss becomes heated.

They pull away for air but Bucky can only last two breaths before sliding his mouth over Darcy’s again, drawing out a soft whimper and her leg tightening around his hip when he licks her mouth. He pulls away again with a ragged gasp. “ _Fuck_ , Darcy,” he pants.

“Someday maybe,” Darcy grins, breathless. “Hopefully soon.”

“Jesus, doll,” Bucky strokes her cheek with his thumb, foreheads touching as they struggle to catch their breath. “I could do that forever. Could kiss you a hundred more years and I’d die a happy man.”

“Then kiss me,” Darcy tells him, and her thighs shake a little at the heated look Bucky gives her. “Until I forget my own name. I’m giving you a standing invitation to do what we just did as much as you want.”

 “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he growls under his breath, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. “You got any clue, doll?”

“Well…there is this,” Darcy rolls her hips against his where his growing hardness pressed against her. She grins at his expression. “So I do have an inkling.”

“’M sorry,” Bucky shifts away quickly, much to Darcy’s dismay.

“Hey, there’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s fine, really,” he won’t meet her eyes, and Darcy tries again. “If we’re comparing, I really wouldn’t shove a hand down my panties right now. It was a hot kiss.”

Bucky’s eyes go round and Darcy would laugh at how hard he’s blushing if he wasn’t being so damn sincere. So instead she rises on her knees as Bucky lays flat on his back, watching her hover over him with her hands on either side of his head. “I liked it. We’re going to do that again.”

And when Darcy lowers her lips to his, kissing him into action by nipping his bottom lip, Bucky roughly yanks her body down the rest of the way and she squeaks, clinging to him as he rolls them over, swallowing her sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ten chapters is a long enough wait for that, right? :)
> 
> This chapter is nothing how I technically planned--just the base skeleton, really--so it was really interesting where the plot took itself and how I adjusted it to the overall plot (that has stayed in tact). The kiss was supposed to be a chapter after this, but...well, sometimes the characters just speak for themselves.
> 
> I hope you liked it! All mistakes are mine and will be fixed by the morrow. I have a nasty habit of posting fic updates at one in the morning.
> 
> What'd you think? :) xx


	11. Chapter 11

**-:-**

**“Some people care too much. I think it’s called love.”**

\--Winnie the Pooh, _A.A. Milne_

**-:-**

**Chapter 11**

He thinks, closing the door gently behind him and softly setting the lock, that if he’s quiet enough he could slip back in bed unnoticed.

“Finished the sweep?” Darcy’s voice is light and soft from sleep, but her eyes are alert as she blinks slowly up at him. Bucky sighs as he crawls back in bed.

“Yes.”

“Find anything?”

Bucky shrugs vaguely. He’s distracted again, her warm limbs immediately inviting his, molding around him as he settles back against the pillows. “I counted eight occupants. House is wired for security.”

“Did you booby trap our room?” Darcy’s raises a brow.

There’s no point hiding it. “I did.”

“All under an hour? With the sun still not up?”

Bucky’s lips twitch. “Yes.”

“Mm,” Darcy stretches against him and Bucky’s hands automatically find their way to her hips, reveling in her soft skin where her shirt has ridden up. “Good. I was kind of getting worried myself…we always did a sweep at least once a day on the ship. And this is a new place, safehouse be damned.”

“I’d never forget it. I’d keep you safe,” Bucky murmurs, mirroring the slow smile she sends him. He nudges her forehead with his. “You should go back to sleep, doll.”

“What, and miss out on this?” Darcy’s heel slides up the back of Bucky’s thigh and he shivers, turning Darcy’s smile wicked. “We have a lot of catching up to do, remember?”

“That what they’re callin’ it these days?” Bucky smirks, and Darcy makes a little happy noise in the back of her throat when suddenly Bucky rolls them over. Her legs slide up to cradle him as he presses a kiss to her neck, grinning a little when he feels her shiver. He’d found that particular spot hours ago, just before tiredness from the day had caught up with them and forcing them to go to sleep.

Darcy doesn’t answer, choosing instead to pull Bucky back up to meet his mouth with hers. They sigh against each other, hearts beating in tandem as Darcy wraps her arms around him and they move slowly against each other. When they pull away Bucky thinks he could never get tired of this, not this, not the way his heart seizes up whenever Darcy looks at him.

“What’re you thinking?” Darcy asks softly.

Bucky brushes the loose strands of hair from her temple, trying to find the words. “I never thought I’d feel this way again,” he admits quietly. “I don’t think I even remembered the feeling, the idea of this, until you.”

He doesn’t tell her he keeps expecting to wake up, to find that this was nothing more than a paper dream his mind conjured to deal with the mess in his head. He doesn’t tell her he doesn’t think he deserves this; that _she_ deserves something whole and beautiful and unbroken, not him, anything but him, but he’s too selfish to warn her away.

“I know you’re worried.” Darcy smiles faintly at his startled look. “Honestly, Bucky. I’ve done nothing but stare at your face the last two weeks, I know when something’s bothering you.”

Bucky huffs out a laugh. “Am I that obvious?”

“No,” Darcy shrugs. “I’m just very invested in your wellbeing.”

Bucky stares at her for a long moment. “Why do you like me?”

Darcy blinks, then lets out a short laugh. “Are we gonna have this talk every time we make out?”

“Darcy.”

“What’s not to like?” Darcy shifts around to free her hands, flicking her fingers up as if reading off a list. “You’re sweet. You make so many old man jokes you don’t even realize it, it’s just who you are. You put the toilet seat down, which none of my past boyfriends could be bothered to do and they were all—”

“Darcy, be serious,” Bucky shifts off of her and lies on his back again, but Darcy ignores his moodiness and slides her leg over him so she’s sitting on top of him.

“Who says I wasn’t being serious? Bucky, that’s not a simple question to answer.”

Bucky looks away mutinously. He hears Darcy sigh.

“Last night, you said I was everything,” Darcy murmurs, running her fingers along his jaw. “I don’t think I deserve that yet, to be honest.”

Bucky’s eyes snap up to her. “You _are_ everything. You are,” Bucky insists. He tilts Darcy’s chin up to meet his eyes, momentarily forgetting his impatience, not liking the uncertainty reflecting back at him.

“And if I asked you what that meant?” Darcy challenges. “Why am I everything to you, Bucky? You’ve only known me two weeks, after all,” Darcy folds her arms over herself expectantly.

“I…I…” Bucky falters. How can he explain to her what she means to him? How could any word be enough to describe how he feels?

“See? Not an easy question.” Darcy’s voice is gentle and it draws Bucky out of his panic, her hands running soothingly down his arms. “We both started the same place. We were strangers. We spent time together, got to know each other. Became friends. And care about each other…so much it can hurt. So much it’s overwhelming.”

And that’s where this started, what had prompted the question from Bucky in the first place—how Darcy genuinely, truly cared so much for him, for his _wellbeing_? That she could _want_ him—and isn’t that a dizzying feeling, to be wanted—and he knows she wants him from the way she’s looked at him and blushed because of him and the eagerness in the way she kissed him, pulling him as close to her body as she could.

“Yeah,” is all Bucky manages to say.

Darcy snorts. “Real articulate.” She leans down to give a quick peck on his cheek, and warmth instantly blooms in his chest. “Now, any other questions? Life-affirming declarations? We good?”

Bucky shakes his head and grins. “We’re good.” Darcy nods, mockingly serious, and starts to move off of him. Bucky’s hands immediately stop her and grip her hips firmly. “Where you going? I like you here.”

“Well some guy said we should sleep,” Darcy sighs mournfully. She bites her lip as Bucky slowly sits up, readjusting their position so Darcy sat comfortably in his lap and her arms draped over his shoulders.

“Guy sounds like an idiot,” Bucky says bluntly before kissing her.

Darcy hums softly and Bucky swallows the sound with a groan, hands wandering from her back to her waist; Darcy’s arms cling around his shoulders, moving and unwinding until her hand trails up his neck into his hair. When he feels her grip it tightly and _tug_ , forcing his head to tilt to the side, Bucky lets out a low growl and digs his fingers into her thighs to drag her hips flush against his.

The sudden movement shocks a quiet gasp from Darcy and Bucky likes how he doesn’t have to think about this, not really; the moving and the touching and the kissing is something his mind hasn’t forgotten, his body hasn’t forgotten how to move, and Bucky’s skin positively sings when he feels Darcy tremble at the first slide of his tongue against hers, moaning into his mouth.

They stay that way for a while, exploring each other’s mouths, until Darcy pulls away with a shaky, breathless gasp. “You’re…you’re really…mmm…kisser…” Darcy trails off as Bucky diverts his attention to peppering kisses down her neck.

“What was that, dollface?”

“I said you’re a really…really…” Bucky presses his lips to the base of her throat and lets his tongue taste her skin, his arms tightening around her when Darcy shivers. “You’re…I can’t think when you’re doing that!”

Bucky chuckles against Darcy’s neck and pulls away, smiling at her adorably frustrated frown. “I ain’t doing a good job if you can.”

Darcy grunts, curling her arms around his neck again and clasping her hands. “Yeah, well. The compliment would’ve gone straight to your head anyway.” She laughs at the injured look he gives her and bites her lip, then leans into Bucky to hug him tightly. Bucky hides a smile as he holds her more firmly around the waist. He likes when she does this, the sudden embrace as if she couldn’t hold it in any longer.

Eventually Darcy pulls away with a sigh. “We should probably start getting ready for the day. I want to read the Accords to get a handle on what’s going on. Our game plan has obviously changed.”

“Yeah what exactly is that? You mentioned it earlier,” Bucky asks as Darcy slides from his lap and darts to the little table across the bed where Darcy had dropped the Accords contract hours ago. She jumps back on the bed and adjusts herself so she’s propped up against Bucky’s chest, his arms automatically wrapping around her middle.

“Okay, so,” Darcy waves the contract, “This is the Sokovia Accords. You hear what happened to Sokovia a year-ish ago?”

Bucky nods slowly. “Was in the paper. Got a clipping of Steve outta that.”

“Right, so bad shit happens, Avengers get blamed for willful destruction—as opposed to, you know, total human annihilation or planetary subjugation, but I _digress_ —” Bucky snorts at the dry way Darcy remarks on the events of the last few years. “A hundred and seventeen countries make this treaty that the Avengers can only go on missions approved by the United Nations. It’s basically an ultimatum—sign the Accords or never help save the world again, at the expense of your own arrest. Then the diplomatic meeting happened in Wakanda, two weeks ago.”

“…Where the King was murdered and I was framed,” Bucky finishes, frowning. “Not a coincidence.”

“Not at all,” Darcy confirms. “This has been rattling around my brain since we met, though. Why frame _you_? Hydra wouldn’t want that—so far they’ve been trying to recollect you, either to put you back to work as an Asset or to put you down, I have no idea. But frame you? What will they gain from that? The last thing they want known is their feeble existence in the media. Hydra’s been down and out since the online leak happened.”

“It put a target on my back,” says Bucky darkly. “I got outed. So whoever did this got me out of hiding.”

Darcy nods quickly. “And to do this in Wakanda, a neutral party, during this huge meeting regarding the Avengers rights…killing King T’Chaka…what happened there? Why are we in this safe house?”

Bucky exhales slowly, thinking on their earlier encounter with Hydra, Steve’s party, and the diversion from Tony Stark. “It’s divided them. It’s divided the world, the media…”

Darcy flips open the Accords to the first page. She shakes her head, making a noise of disgust. “This is, fuck. Did anyone even _read_ this before signing?” Darcy turns the page. “No wonder everyone’s on different sides. Well, I’m _assuming_ so. When three people desperately try to make sure you don’t go to Stark Tower, you have to wonder.”

“That bad?” Bucky peers over Darcy’s shoulder to read the contract.

“Not good, that’s for sure,” Darcy mutters, worrying her lower lip. “There’s so many red flags here, my Poli-Sci training hasn’t been this alert since I graduated…”

For the next hour Bucky reads along with Darcy, chin propped on her shoulder as she uses one of his empty notebooks to jot down notes, writing down the things that stick out in the contract. Bucky hasn’t seen her like this since their first night together—concentrated, focused, studying the words before her with every ounce of willpower. When Darcy finally puts down the pen and slumps against him, Bucky says, “Did you find anything useful?”

Darcy laughs weakly. “Oh, lots. So much. But do I have the actual qualification to get anything done about it? Eh.” Darcy makes a shrugging gesture, a defeated set to her shoulders. Bucky hugs her closer and presses a soothing kiss on her left cheek.

“You’re the smartest girl I’ve ever known, doll. Tell us what to do and we’ll do it.”

Darcy shrugs again. “I know the type we’re dealing with. Steve and his buddies? Immediate action type. I don’t think they’ll want to listen to what I’m gonna tell them, not when they’re technically already on the side of reason.”

“They’ll listen to you.” Darcy turns her head to look at him doubtfully. Bucky looks at her firmly. “We’re out of options, Darce. All of us. There’s no plan on what to do next. They’ll take whatever you can offer, trust me.”

“Yeah?” Darcy says softly.  

“Yeah.”

Darcy smiles up at him. She rests her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes when Bucky gently presses his temple against hers.

A soft knock on the door interrupts the tender moment. Bucky tenses, his hand automatically reaching underneath his pillow.

From the door they hear, “It’s me. Steve?”

Darcy glances at Bucky. When he doesn’t move or object, Darcy slips off the bed and pads to the door. Steve smiles brightly at her when she opens it. “Hey! Ah—hey. I thought you two would be awake.” His eyes dart behind Darcy to Bucky, who’s sitting ramrod straight on the bed. Steve returns his attention to Darcy.

“Hey. And yeah, we’ve been awake for a while. Sun’s already started to come up.”

Steve nods quickly. “Did you get a chance to look through the contract?”

“I did. I have thoughts.” Darcy watches him carefully but there’s no need; Steve merely smiles.

“We’d love to hear it during the meeting. We’re gonna have a meeting, by the way. That’s why I…” he makes a vague gesture to the doorway. “To let you know.”

Darcy can’t stop the grin at Steve’s awkward nervousness. The resemblance to Bucky’s mannerisms is uncanny. “Thanks! We’ll be down soon.” Darcy glances back at Bucky. His eyes are trained on Steve, hand clenching and unclenching at the bedsheets. A nervous tick. “So…I’m going to shower now. I’m gonna leave this door open, so you can come in if you want…or Bucky could close it if he wants…this is between you two. And you have a lot of,” it’s Darcy’s turn to make an unintelligible gesture at the stretch of air that separates Bucky and Steve. “Yeah. I’ll be out in twenty.”

Gathering a few clothes and toiletries, Darcy disappears out of the bedroom.

Steve watches her go almost wistfully. He turns to look tentatively at Bucky, who’s staring resolutely at the wall. Steve clears his throat, opening his mouth.

“Get in here, punk,” Bucky says impatiently.

Steve smiles, and closes the door behind him.

A long silence stretches between them. Steve finally breaks it. “Been looking for you for near two years.”

Bucky sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

“How long did you plan on running?”

Bucky shrugs, meeting Steve’s eyes. “Until I figured things out.”

Steve is quiet. “I could’ve helped you with that, Buck.”

“I’m a time bomb, Steve. I needed to figure it out on my own. Look what’s happened at just the _sight_ of me on the news. Look what’s happened to you and your friends.”

“You’re my friend,” Steve says firmly, his voice brooking no argument.

“How’d you find us?” Bucky turns to him. “What gave us away?”

Steve frowns. “Foster…when we officially made contact, she indicated you and Darcy Lewis left the country together a while ago. Was just a matter of facial recognition on the security cameras around the city.”

“She tell you we went by boat?”

Steve smiles wryly. “She didn’t seem to trust us very much. Didn’t give much away. We’re lucky she told us what she did—she told everyone else nothing. We had to figure it out on our own.”

Bucky nods slowly, absorbing this information. “And Hydra? They’re tailing you hard.”

“To find you,” Steve frowns deeply, and for a second Bucky doesn’t see this Steve but someone smaller, frailer, with an identical disgruntled frown. Somehow, the memory soothes him. “It’s been hard, picking them off and keeping them off your trail too. Clearly we didn’t succeed.” Steve looks down at his hands briefly. “She tell you about the Accords, then?”

“Yeah. My girl’s as smart as they come,” Bucky smiles fondly. “She’s been getting ready to rip a new one into whoever’s signed the shitty contract.”

“It’s bad, right?”

“Hell, I don’t even know much about politics or law and even I could see the whole thing is messed up,” Bucky shakes his head bitterly.

“Tony’s not thinking clearly,” says Steve quietly. “The guilt’s eating away at him, I can see it. We need him to show him, give him another option, he just—he just rushed into this and then the Wakanda attack happened—”

“What other option?” Bucky idly picks up the notebook where Darcy discarded it, smirking at the mess of notes and scribbles by her hand. “Darce, she’s got ideas, but even she’s doubtful there’s any helping this. I’m just not seeing a way out of this.”

Steve looks at Bucky for a long moment. Finally, Steve replies softly, “Darcy, huh? Your girl?”

Bucky doesn’t expect that. He nods anyway, eyes fixed on Steve’s, almost challengingly. “Yeah. My girl.”

Steve nods, then a slow smiles breaks over his face. “Only you could manage finding a dame when running for your life.” His voice is long-suffering and Bucky can’t help but chuckle under his breath, feeling something warm spark through his veins, a familiar setting that Steve’s drawing out of him.

“You’re such a punk,” Bucky says with a half-grin. The smile fades as he looks off at the door again where Darcy had left, a look of pure sadness consuming him. “I’m pretty sure I ruined her life, Steve. And what does she do in return? Takes my hand and runs with me without ever looking back. Want…wants me.” Bucky meets Steve’s eyes. “Could you let that go?”

Steve looks away, his eyes distant. Bucky wonders if he’s thinking of Peggy. Swallowing hard, Steve shakes his head firmly. “No. Never again.”

**-:-**

It’s uncomfortable, to say the least.

Darcy is grateful for Bucky sitting right next to her, his arm wound firmly around her waist like an anchor to her presence of mind. The room full of people is by no means a large party, but Darcy has never been good with introductions and this one was bound to be the most stressful.

She thinks Bucky situated them purposely so his metal arm is on display and his right arm is holding her. Darcy doesn’t miss how anyone who dares to make eye contact with him receives a full flexing of Bucky’s metal fingers until they quickly look away.

“So,” Steve heaves a sigh. “This is the team. Well, the ones not out working the field.”

Darcy spots a familiar face and sits up. “I know you! How’s your shoulder? And what’s your name?”

The dark-haired woman gives the faintest of smiles. “I’m fine. And Maria Hill. I’m not here for long, though—I still work for Stark so I’ll be heading back to the Tower very soon.”

“Huh,” Darcy blinks. “Hopefully he’s not too pissed when he finds out about that, right?”

Introductions go around then—Sam Wilson lounges across the room, tipping a glass of orange juice in their direction; Scott Lang actually shakes her hand and looks at Bucky in awe.

“I have to say, metal arm, totally cool. Not cool how you got it, but, _dude_. You were my favorite Howlie. Thank you so much for the service to our country, Sir.” Scott ducks his head a bit out of respect and Bucky looks both flabbergasted and heavily confused, nodding uncomfortably and mumbling something Darcy can’t catch. Darcy thinks if Scott had saluted Bucky, he would’ve had to leave the room for a bit.

A quiet girl with long brown hair and a red sweater mutters a hello, her accent evident. Darcy recognizes her from the photos that surfaced during the Ultron invasion. Her name is Wanda.

Up until then Bucky hasn’t spoken much or not at all, but his gaze fixes on Wanda deliberately.

“ _Skol’ko Vam let_ , Wanda?” Bucky asks softly.

Wanda smiles a little. “ _Ya devyatnadtsat_.”

Bucky tries to smile back, but Darcy notices the troubled way his eyes dart to his lap.

 “Our primary objective was safely getting you and Bucky out of the line of fire, away from Tony and Ross. And the public eye, basically,” Steve tells them as he settles down on a chair. “And we’ve got you here safe. But we can’t stay in this safehouse for long. We have one, two days tops left before we’re discovered.”

When only a general murmur fills the air, Darcy bites back a sigh. It’ll have to be now, then.

Darcy clears her throat. “Listen. I looked over the Sokovia Accords, and taking into account what’s happened the last fourteen days…” Darcy shakes her head. “I mean. I’m just kind of astounded if I’m totally honest. You were all part of some kind of government-funded agency, right? You’re all adequately trained with the basics?” Darcy waves the contract in her hand disdainfully. “How did this get so far? No, listen,” Darcy repeats when voices start to talk over her. “Listen to me. This? This treaty isn’t even _ratified_. It’s null. You literally cannot do shit with this. It has no governance on you. You—god, I can’t believe this—you need both houses of _Congress_ and the President to sign this and guess what? Congress didn’t! I mean,” Darcy shakes her head incredulously, “I just cannot believe the credence this has gotten. It was as if going to the United Nations somehow legitimized it but it _doesn’t_.”

“But General Ross,” Wanda looks uncertainly from Darcy to Steve. “He said…and Tony, he’s already signed it.”

“General Ross clearly has some other motive here. For fuck’s sake, this whole conversation is _meaningless_. I say first thing’s first, the air needs to be cleared about what kind of power this contract has. Zero. I’ll just, I’ll say it again. _Zero_. That word needs to be put out there because right now the media seems to be focusing on the Winter Soldier and the U.N. meeting. This Accord isn’t even constitutional, not for a longshot, for _so_ many reasons…I’m getting a headache just thinking about it.” Darcy sighs deeply, steadying herself, and Bucky squeezes her waist comfortingly. “The fists and the fighting thing did its part, but it’s not going to work now. Not anymore. We need to be three steps ahead. What they want to do with Bucky isn’t lawful. What they want the Avengers to be, to do, is unlawful.”

“How do we get that word out?” Steve asks, looking at Darcy seriously. A thrill of confidence sparks through her at his genuine attention.

Darcy licks her lips. “Well, you need someone…a public figure, to first put out a statement. You need to do something big. It’ll be even better if it’s partly online—the internet community is good at spreading information like wildfire, especially if there’s a chance the government’s screwed up in some way.” Darcy chews her bottom lip, her expression thoughtful. “And it definitely has to be someone who could legitimately oppose Tony Stark.”

Steve’s eyes widen. He glances at Maria, who nods furtively. He looks back at Darcy.

“I think I know someone who could do that.”

**-:-**

They leave in thirty minutes, Steve tells them. Darcy sags against the sofa when everyone starts to get up and leave, and smiles when she feels Bucky brush a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“What’d I tell you?” Bucky says in her ear, and she can hear the smile in his voice. “They listened.”

“That’s the last time I ever doubt you, Bucky bear.” Bucky wrinkles his nose at the name. Darcy turns her head so she faces him. “Sweet Bucky. You made two friends today.”

Bucky’s brows furrow in confusion. “No I didn’t.”

“You will, then. Scott’s definitely going to be a thorn in your side, and you bonded with Wanda. That was really nice of you.”

Bucky ducks his head, his cheeks turning pink. “I don’t know.”

Darcy pats him fondly on his knee before standing up. “I’ll go find us something from the kitchen before we head out.”

He watches her leave, a fond look about him. It isn’t until she’s long gone when he notices a pair of eyes watching him.

“See you made it through the night,” Sam saunters up to him to stand next to the sofa armrest where Bucky sits. “Just wondering, though. You remember me?”

Bucky gives him a long look. “You mean before or after I ripped one of your steel wings off on the helipad?”

Sam chuckles, and Bucky doesn’t miss the note of sarcasm in his tone. “Man, we’re gonna get along so well.” Sam nods in the distance to where the kitchen is. “Her, though. She knows her stuff.”

Immediately Bucky stiffens. Sam notices. “So you two are…” Bucky glares at Sam. Hard. “Wow. Didn’t see that coming. You, with a girl?” His smile is teasing.

Darcy comes back in the room, a banana, apple, and two plums in tow. “This is all I could find. You can have the plums regardless, I know you like them.”

He can’t help it. His heart swells twice its size. Bucky stands and glances at Sam before turning to Darcy, uttering a soft “thank you” before crashing their lips together.

She startles and the fruit slip from her arms. His mouth is hot against hers and she responds eagerly, pressing herself against him, all soft and curves he clings to fervently.

“Wow,” Darcy breathes when they finally pull away. Bucky feels a swell of pride at the flushed skin and dazed way she blinks at him, fighting to catch her breath. He did that.

Darcy looks past his shoulder, catching Sam laughing silently behind them. Darcy glances back at Bucky. “Seriously? Did we just have the hottest kiss because you were in a boner size contest with that idiot?”

“Hey, leave me out of it,” Sam lifts his hands and walks away. “He’s all yours.”

Darcy looks pointedly at Bucky. He shrugs.

“Just wanted to do it in the open. Let ‘em know what we are. That you’re my girl.”

Darcy licks her lips, and it takes all of Bucky’s effort to drag his eyes away from them and back to her eyes. “Is that what I am? Does that make you my fella?” Her lips quirk up teasingly, but he can see the insecurity in her eyes.

Bucky presses their foreheads together. “Every day, until you say otherwise.”

Darcy’s grin is so wide Bucky has to thank his super soldier lung capacity for times like these, when he momentarily forgets how to breathe.

**-:-**

The woman sits across them at the private restaurant, her hands folded tightly over her lap. Her crisp white skirt and matching white blouse contrasts starkly with the red hair held in a tight ponytail.

“Pepper Potts,” she says, somewhat weakly when she looks at Bucky. But she holds out her hand for him to shake, and Bucky shakes it hesitantly with a look of mild surprise. “This was…unexpected.”

“We need your help, Pepper,” Steve’s voice is hushed, sincere. The full Cap, Darcy thinks. “You know what’s going on, what this all means. You _have_ to understand this a bit better than Tony is.”

“I…” Pepper swallows thickly and looks away. “He’s going to take this personally, Steve. He’ll look at it as an act of betrayal, he’s so— _dramatic_ —I don’t know if I can watch him go through that again. It’s almost a yearly business at this point.”

“But you agree,” Darcy says pointedly to Pepper. “You know this Accords is full of shit, this manhunt is wrong. Not without due process.”

“That!” Pepper points at Darcy. “That right there is what you really need. I can do the legwork, get the word out, be your agent or your, I don’t know, what is it they call it these days?” she turns to Steve a little desperately.

“Manager?” Steve says helpfully.

“Sure, your manager. Your publicist. I can do all and any of those things, but what I can’t do is the important part, the part you _actually_ need if you plan to avoid the Accords and General Ross’s version of the U.S. government.” Pepper tilts her head. “And the U.N. God this is a mess, isn’t it?”

“Yes it is, ma’am.” Bucky addresses Pepper softly, tentatively. She positively _beams_.

Then she sobers, and Pepper nods seriously. “At the base of it, you need a lawyer. A really good one, one who’s done tough cases like Mr. Barnes’s. I think I know just the firm.” Pepper reaches into her purse and pulls out a single business card, slipping it across the table.

Darcy squints down at the card. “Who the hell are _Nelson and Murdock_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. I'm going there. :)
> 
>  _“Skol’ko Vam let, Wanda?”_ roughly 'How old are you Wanda?'
> 
>  _“Ya devyatnadtsat.”_ roughly 'I am nineteen.' (I'm not 100% sure what her age is in the MCU, 19 is the closest I found.)
> 
> I just, I have to say this one thing. The response I got to the last chapter had me very emotional. Honestly. I just...you are all so wonderful and I am the luckiest author to have such amazing readers. Seriously, each and every one of you made my week.
> 
> If you haven't seen Netflix's Daredevil or read the comics, I promise everything will not be vague when the story steers towards Daredevil--I plan to be very clear who Matt Murdock is, because I know really well how it feels to read something in Marvel fic and not be 100% familiar with some added characters.
> 
> So what'd you think? :) xx


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** The following and future law-related content is provided by the Google Law School of Potentially Erroneous Results (copyright leftennant). The closest I came to being a lawyer was my brief musings of taking the LSAT last September, which I never did. I encourage all of you beauties to suspend your disbelief.

**-:-**

**“These questions of good and evil, as important as they are, have no place in a court of law. Only the facts matter.”**

\--Matt Murdock, _Daredevil_

**-:-**

** Chapter 12 **

Darcy taps against the keys of the laptop for several minutes while Bucky rests his head against the wall, arms folded over his chest and eyes closed. They’re both sitting cross-legged on the bed, comforter over their laps with the evening sunset casting soft light into the room. Darcy twists her mouth in distaste as she scrolls through the Manhattan archive. “Just looking through the public records of Hell’s Kitchen is pretty awful. Guess we’re in the right place, then, right?”

Bucky shrugs, his eyes still closed. “Hell’s Kitchen, huh? Didn’t think the name’d stick.”

Darcy glances at him. “You’ve been there?”

A small smirk tugs at Bucky’s lips. “’Course I’ve been there. Used to get hooch for me and Steve at a few blind pigs, depending on the…climate.”

Darcy frowns and her fingers go still on the keyboard. “Prohibition was only until 1933, Bucky.” Bucky shrugs again, still smirking. “You…ha! Drank at sixteen? Guess not much really changes generationally when you’re a teenager.”

“It was a stupid law,” Bucky says bluntly.

“Could Steve handle his cheap booze at the ripe age of sixteen?”

For a moment Bucky’s eyes glaze over. Darcy wonders if she should have asked, or if maybe it was a good thing she asked after all, when Bucky’s smile widens and he focuses on her again. “I think you should ask him yourself.”

“Don’t think I won’t,” Darcy mutters, turning back to the screen.

Bucky shakes his head, ducking a smile. He nods to her laptop. “Find ‘em?”

“Yep, just now. All that’s left is the watching.” Bucky lifts up the comforter and Darcy scoots over until she’s nestled against his chest. He draws the comforter over her lap and pulls her close, resting his chin on her shoulder as she angles the laptop on her knees. “Ready?” Bucky hums. “Alright. This one is the John Healy trial—some dude who killed another dude in a bowling alley out of self-defense, according to the record.”

Darcy tapped a button and a court room displayed on the screen, a small timer running on the corner of the video.

“Which ones are Nelson and Murdock?” Bucky asks.

“They’re um…yeah, they’re the defense lawyers on the left,” Darcy points to two men, one rather short with blond hair that roughly resembled Bucky’s current length, and the other man taller, dark hair swept cleanly on a side, wearing red mirrored glasses.

“Murdock is blind,” Bucky realizes.

“Yeah. He went to…” Darcy switches the screen to a document, “Columbia Law. Nelson did too. Their resumes are pretty impressive.”

They watch the trial in silence. Darcy watches Murdock saunter to the jury, staring at them for a long moment before being prompted to make his closing statement. “He has a raw kind of voice, doesn’t he,” Darcy notes.

Bucky doesn’t comment. The video eventually ends with Healy freed of all charges, and Bucky shifts behind her. “What ended up happening to Healy?”

Darcy cuts the video, pulling back the document. “He…he killed himself,” Darcy says, surprise coloring her voice. “Right after the trial.”

Bucky lets out a soft breath, still not voicing whatever it is that has him tense. “Is there another trial?”

“Just one,” Darcy mutters, pulling up a new video. “‘The People versus Frank Castle’,” Darcy reads the title underneath the video. “You know, I think I remember hearing something about this one. It was pretty big; made the news and everything.” She purses her lips as she pulls up the records on the trial and of Frank Castle himself.

“Oh my god.” A tremor of fear courses through her, and Bucky’s arms, already holding her in an embrace, tighten firmly against him. “Oh…oh my god…”

“Play the video,” Bucky’s voice is low, rough.

Darcy doesn’t speak. Neither does Bucky. When the trial goes south and the video goes black, Darcy finally closes the browser and pushes the laptop away.

She feels Bucky taking slow, measured breaths. His chin no longer rests on her shoulder, leaning against the wall instead. Darcy twists around to look at him.

She takes in the steely gaze and blank expression and swallows hard. “Are you…?” Bucky’s eyes shift to look at Darcy. “That all felt wrong, didn’t it.”

“Yeah.”

Darcy chews on her bottom lip. “They didn’t win.”

Bucky huffs, a bitter edge to his voice. “How could they? Castle blew up on them. You read the report on what happened after the trial.”

“Yeah. Frank escaped prison. Presumed dead…something tells me he’s not.” Darcy shakes her head, brow furrowing in frustration. “Something’s not adding _up_ , Bucky. This felt all wrong, all of it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bucky says. “That problem isn’t ours to solve. We’re focusing on you and me.”

“But,” Darcy glances at the blank laptop again. “Did _that_ convince you they’d win your case? Because I sure don’t feel super confident. They’ve only done two trials, Bucky, one of which—”

“Darcy. That doesn’t matter.”

“Why?” Darcy demands.

“Because they’re defense lawyers in Hell’s Kitchen who took on two of the shittiest cases and still scraped by. I don’t—I don’t like this,” Bucky says with difficulty, metal fingers gripping the blanket tightly. “But they’ll do.”

Darcy purses her lips, ire sparking through her. “It just doesn’t add up,” she repeats quietly. “But you’re right. They’re…not a bad choice. They’re really good, actually.”

She gives him a moment. She gives herself a moment too. Then, hesitantly, Darcy says, “Frank Castle’s case…his past…”

Bucky’s eyes snap to hers, and Darcy’s shaken by the raw desperation in his gaze. “Please. Don’t.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m overstepping, I’m so sorry. I just…want to know you’re okay. His case was really rough…I’m sorry, I won’t say anything. Pretend I didn’t say anything.” Darcy buries herself into his shoulder.

“It’s alright.” Bucky murmurs it against her hair. “I’m alright.”

Darcy swallows, holding him just a little bit tighter. “Good.”

Bucky pauses. “I know you…you’ll probably want to dig into the case…”

“Did I say that? I definitely didn’t say that.” Darcy hides her face unsuccessfully into his shoulder.

She hears Bucky sigh, but his voice has a touch of warmth. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

Darcy looks up to face him. “I don’t know. No? But, you know, priorities. I’ll do my digging on my own time…probably starting with that legal consultant who sat with them through the Castle trial. Karen? But none of that really matters right now. Right now, you are the only thing I care about.” Darcy shrugs, chewing her lip again in thought.

Bucky watches Darcy for a long moment before reaching over and gently prying her lower lip from her teeth. “Keep gnawing at that and I’ll have nothing left to kiss, doll.”

Darcy gives a dry look and lightly bites his thumb.

**-:-**

“So I called the firm and checked the address and unfortunately, I’m not finding a way to contact them. So I did a little digging,” Pepper looks like she’s setting up for disappointment, wincing preemptively, “and the only known contact point is at the _Hogarth, Chao and Benowitz_ firm. Now, I know this isn’t ideal, but I _promise_ you I’ll find a way. I’ve already set up a meeting with a publicist colleague who’s friends with a news anchor who could get us on—”

Pepper Potts is very nice, Bucky thinks.

He doesn’t realize he’s said this aloud until Darcy starts coughing. He looks to Pepper, expecting a frown, but Pepper all but curtsies in front of him and smiles a wide, tremulous smile. “Oh,” she waves her hand, looking both pleased and embarrassed. “That’s very kind of you to say, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky smiles back tentatively. When Pepper turns to say something to Steve, Darcy leans up to whisper in his ear, “Someone’s got a _cruu-uush_.”

“I do not,” Bucky grouses, sending her a flinty look that Darcy eats up with an answering grin.

“You do. She’s your new hero. You’ll tape photos of her above your bed,” Darcy sighs, resting an elbow up on his shoulder.

“You talk too much.” Bucky looks studiously away from Darcy, and away from Pepper, leaving him to glare at Steve. Steve unluckily meets his eye and startles a bit, quickly looking away. Darcy snorts beside Bucky.

“So it’s still in Hell’s Kitchen, right?” Steve asks Pepper.

“Yes, still Hell’s Kitchen,” Pepper says firmly.

“I thought we were signing up for _Nelson and Murdock_?” says Darcy, skeptical. “You’re saying it’s not even a law firm anymore.”

Pepper nods uncertainly. “I know, I’m sorry about this. I had no idea they’d disbanded after the Castle case…I couldn’t find Mr. Murdock’s current place of work, but I did find Mr. Nelson’s. I think that’s as good a start as any.”

Pepper beckons Bucky, Darcy, and Steve into her car and then slides into the driver’s seat. Steve sits up front while Bucky and Darcy camp in the back. Bucky somehow manages to both shy away from the window and keep a vigilant post by it, eyes darting back and forth once they cross the Holland Tunnel and into the thick of the city.

Pepper manages to get access to a private parking area belonging to the firm. She glances at Steve then Bucky, both who have pulled their baseball caps further down and the collar to their jackets higher up. “I wouldn’t be too alarmed. It’s private access, but as a safety precaution for both of you…keep your head down and stay close to me.”

Darcy is a shadow the minute they start walking, covering Bucky and keeping him well obscured from the CCTV and the building’s own security. A hint of something like pride warms his chest. He hadn’t even taught her this, not really, but knew she’d picked up on it during their time on the run.

The entrance hall to the firm is upscale and modern. Bucky eyes it warily, his fingers automatically finding Darcy’s and curling around them. She squeezes his hand reassuringly.

“Come on,” Pepper mutters. Her back is straight, head lifted high in the air, and a smile ready when she reaches the front desk. “I have an appointment with Mr. Nelson,” she tells the receptionist pleasantly.

The receptionist doesn’t spare Bucky, Darcy, or Steve so much as a glance. “Last name?”

“Potts.”

The walk to the office is quick. Bucky spots the gold-plated lettering on a semi-transparent door: _Franklin Nelson, Attorney at Law._

Pepper knocks on the door. From her body language he can tell she is nervous, but her expression has a will of steel; Pepper smiles winningly when the door opens.

The blond man from the trial videos beams up at Pepper. “Miss Potts! I can’t tell you what an honor this is,” his tone is genuine and he shakes her hand eagerly. His glance turns to the three stiff figures looming behind her. “And I see you’ve brought company.”

“I hope that’s alright. I apologize if this is a little unannounced,” Pepper flashes Nelson another gracious smile, and the man is putty once more.

“No, all good, it’s cool. Come on in,” Nelson sidesteps and holds out the door for all four of them to shuffle inside.

The office is big enough for them to fit relatively comfortably, but there are only two chairs and Pepper hovers near one. Bucky stays back, lingering behind Steve’s shoulder and Darcy’s side.

“Please,” Nelson gestures for Pepper to sit, and he takes a seat behind the desk. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, Mr. Nelson,” Pepper begins. “I’m not here for myself. It’s more what can you do for my…client.”

Nelson nods, and Pepper pauses to turn in her seat and locks eyes with Bucky. “Mr. Barnes, could you…?” Pepper indicates the seat next to her. Bucky hesitates, eyes flitting over her and the lawyer. He looks up at Steve. Steve gives a single nod, and Bucky removes the baseball cap and flattens his collar.

Bucky sees the second the color drains from Nelson’s face as Bucky settles in the chair beside Pepper. He hears a rustle and realizes Steve’s removed his small disguise as well.

“My client, James Barnes,” Pepper says, watching him warily. “Mr. Nelson...?”

“Oh my god. You’re—” His eyes dart up to Steve. “And _you’re_ —” he says breathlessly, then turns to Darcy, who waves her fingers in a friendly wave. “And you’re…?”

“Please, Mr. Nelson, don’t be alarmed,” Pepper says, placating, and holds up her hand. “We’re just here for your help.”

Nelson nods, swallowing convulsively. “Well, yeah…just any old day at the office, when Captain America and _the Winter Soldier_ —”

“Please keep your voice down,” Pepper’s soft, calming voice is gone, her tone now brittle with checked displeasure. She glances at Bucky and gives him a small, assuring smile, noticing he’s stiffened in his seat.

“I’m sorry. I just…I’m not following anymore,” Nelson says, attempting at schooling his face into something calmer. His eyes keep flitting to Bucky. Bucky has to force himself not to pull up his collar again.

Pepper clicks open her purse and pulls out a folder, setting it gently down on the desk. “I’m sure you’ve seen and heard many things about Mr. Barnes, but these are the facts. Straight from the source—leaked files that are now public domain, so there’s no worry of backdoor mishandling for you to have this information.” Pepper taps on the file with a single manicured nail. “This is the _truth_ , Mr. Nelson, and right now the media and some factions of our own government are trying their best to cover it up quickly and quietly. We need the law to do Mr. Barnes justice. We feel you are one of the only ones who can do that for him.”

“We’ve seen your stuff,” Darcy drawls from the back, arms crossed over her chest. “You’re familiar with these kinds of cases, right?”

Nelson nods faintly, picking up the file and reading through it. “Jesus…”

Bucky shifts uncomfortably when Nelson glances at him again, this time with less of his prior shock and more of disbelief.

Finally, Nelson clears his throat.

“From what I understand, Mr. Barnes, you are currently a wanted fugitive with a shoot to kill order,” Nelson murmurs, setting the file down. “You’re accused of first-degree murder of the Wakandan king and over a dozen international and domestic assassinations in the last…seven decades. God that sounds so weird, seventy years?”

“None of that was him,” Steve says firmly, stepping forward and pressing a hand on Bucky’s right shoulder. “He was a prisoner of war. Hydra tortured and forced him into the Winter Soldier program, _none_ of that was the work of Bucky Barnes.” Bucky flinches, clenching his jaw. Steve pauses, glancing down at Bucky, before withdrawing his hand.

“There’s more than enough evidence that Mr. Barnes was a victim of Hydra, if you check the Shield-Hydra files in there,” says Pepper. “I believe not only is he being framed for the Wakandan assassination, but…” Pepper swallows thickly, flitting her gaze at Bucky. Bucky straightens, interested. “The United States government likely had a hand in the willful ignorance of his capture, considering many Hydra agents had commanded operation from then until the fall of Shield. We know just how far Hydra had their hands in the government, Mr. Nelson, if the news hasn’t already made it very clear.”

“That…yes.” Nelson nods slowly. “If that is the case…and we do this right…you’ll be protected under the custody of our firm until due process. I can’t guarantee when this gets out, that we all won’t be under some serious, pardon me, _shit_ from the higher-ups. It’ll be lucky if we stop you from getting arrested the second it’s out that you’re in New York.”

Darcy clears her throat.“ Sorry to interrupt. The thing is,” Darcy starts, and Bucky shifts around to look at her. “And maybe this isn’t the right time to mention it, but—we watched your previous cases, Mr. Nelson. We weren’t looking to be represented by this firm. We were interested in _Nelson and Murdock_.”

Nelson looks at Darcy in surprise. He clears throat, glancing down at the file, “We no longer work together.”

“But you two worked on the Frank Castle case,” Darcy presses. “This isn’t so different.”

“That case blew up,” Nelson replies, a little more stiffly. “Matt doesn’t—Mr. Murdock doesn’t represent this firm. I’m afraid if you were looking for the both of us to work this case, you just have me.”

“The Frank Castle case may not have been a success,” Pepper intervenes, her voice careful, “but it was one of the toughest cases. And the both of you…well. It’s a shame _Nelson and Murdock_ isn’t a firm anymore. The two of you together worked brilliantly.”

Nelson blinks, and for a moment looks at a loss of words. “We did. Avocados at law.” He exhales heavily. “Listen, you just—you’ll have to believe me on this. I’m going to do my best to clear Mr. Barnes of his charges—and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but honestly? They all should be cleared. The Wakanda incident, though,” Foggy shakes his head, rubbing his jaw tiredly. “I’m not sure how much I can help with that. We need an alibi at the very least.”

“That’s where I come in, boss,” Darcy flicks two fingers up in greeting, stepping closer. “Believe me, this is going to be a wild story.”

**-:-**

By the time Nelson has heard, seen, and read the full of extent of Bucky’s disposition, everyone looks markedly more fatigued. Nelson is calmer, though. Focused. She knows he’s already accepted to represent Bucky before Darcy even told him the events of the last two weeks.

“This’ll have to be fairly public,” Nelson says to Pepper, throwing a sympathetic glance at Bucky. Darcy notices Bucky’s not sitting as stiffly as before, but he still hasn’t said a word and it’s starting to worry her.

“That’s what I’m here for,” Pepper smiles slightly. “We already sort of expected that. We need the public’s involvement. So far everything’s sort of slipped by with too much misinformation. And…and in order to face the inevitable opposition, we have to be prepared on all fronts.”

Nelson nods agreeably. “Well then, great! I’ll start on the paperwork and get this ball rolling. The trial of _United States v. James Buchanan Barnes_ won’t start itself. It’s not every day you challenge the U.S. government for gross misconduct dating back seventy years.”

Darcy watches Pepper and Nelson shake hands, the meeting coming to a close. She bites her lip, glancing at Bucky.

Bucky stands slowly, pausing to wipe his hands on his jeans, then turns to Nelson. Slowly, hesitantly, Bucky holds out his right hand.

Nelson notices and jumps a little. “Oh!” Quickly he reaches over to shake Bucky’s hand, smiling gently.

“Thank you,” Bucky says quietly. He looks sincerely at Nelson. Nelson stares at Bucky, hand still clutching his.

When Nelson speaks, his voice is as raw as Bucky’s. “I’m going to clear your name, Mr. Barnes. And if it’s all the same to you…welcome back.” His eyes flit over to Steve, who still stands behind Bucky. “Both of you.” Nelson drops Bucky’s hand, looking at him with firm resolution. “And by the end of this? When we win? I’m getting you your damn medals of honor.”

Bucky swallows hard, his jaw working. He gives a sharp nod, ducking his eyes and stepping away from the desk and the chair and away from Steve. He sidles up to Darcy and she slips her hand into his, glancing up at him with worry when he grips her hand a little too tightly.

**-:-**

“Ma’am, we really couldn’t…”

“Nope, pack your things. My penthouse is too big anyway. Come on,” Pepper claps her hands and smiles when Steve sighs, resigned. “We’re doing things sort of legally now anyway, right? There won’t be a need to hide in a few days’ time. Tell your friends the new base is my place.”

“The security risk—”

“I dated Tony Stark.” Pepper gives Steve a _look_ , and it’s enough to silence him.

Steve turns to Bucky and Darcy, who are still hovering near the door the wilting house that was serving as a temporary base. “You heard the lady. Time to pack.”

**-:-**

Pepper hadn’t been lying when she mentioned she had more than enough room in her penthouse to accommodate a small Steve Rogers army. Only Steve, Wanda, Sam, Scott, Bucky, and Darcy are manning the base; the rest would come and go during the day and late into the night if necessary. Room-sharing is a thing Darcy does not mind in the least, especially with her current roommate.

Darcy steps out of the ensuite bathroom, briskly rubbing a towel through her hair. Bucky’s sitting at the edge of the bed, staring at the television where the news is playing. Bucky’s hair is still wet from his shower and curling a little at the ends.

Darcy reaches over to run her fingers through his damp hair. “I keep waiting for it to start,” Bucky says quietly. “Waiting for my face to start cropping up on the screen. The door to bust down.”

“No one would dare bust Pepper Potts’ door,” Darcy quips. She plops herself down next to Bucky, jostling him slightly on the bed. “Even if things had worked out how we had wanted, that Tony Stark would be the one helping us instead, we’d still have to go through all this. Still would’ve needed lawyers. Still would’ve had your face on the T.V. It’s just a little different, that’s all.”

Bucky’s throat bobs, eyes drifting to his lap. His fingers tangle and detangle over and over, shaking.

“Hey…” Darcy touches his shoulder, looking at Bucky in concern.

“What Steve said back there,” Bucky mutters tersely, “what—what that lawyer said, at the end. Reinstating my—my medals,” his voice cracks at the last word. “And when Lang thanked me…for my service…”

“Bucky…”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve it.”

“Bucky,” Darcy falters, and her fingers grip a little more tightly when he looks at her. His eyes are shining, holding on with just a tether of control.

“I don’t deserve that. I hardly remember that—service to my country? It’s a fucking joke.”

“Bucky, that wasn’t your _fault_ ,” Darcy says emphatically.

“I remember bits of growing up. I remember Azzano. And I remember the Asset. I don’t deserve a goddamn medal of honor when the only part of service I remember is when I put down more innocent lives than any soldier ever should.”

Darcy doesn’t know what to say. Bucky turns back to watch the news. Gently, Darcy presses her lips to Bucky’s bare shoulder and moves to the top of the bed, slipping under the covers.

Sometime in the night when the television is shut off and the only light is from the faint glow of the city, Bucky crawls under the covers. He curls an arm around hers, and presses his face into her shoulder, and slowly falls asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters in three weeks...my muse is on _fire_.
> 
> I hope my brief introduction into the Daredevil characters and important moments made enough sense. I honestly recommend watching the show if you haven't already; it's on Netflix and it's just wonderful. Also, Matt and Karen will show up. Don't worry. They'll be involved in Bucky's case.
> 
> Until chapter 13! What'd you think? :) xx


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a few things. This chapter and all future ones pretty much could not have been adjusted without the guidance, advice, and general awesomeness of leftennant, who basically took my cries of help and offered so much damn wisdom about the law side of stuff and took my flailing and went ‘shhh, it will be okay, just consider this thing.’ And I did, and now this fic has been salvaged from the utter trainwreck it was on a collision course to. I owe this girl at least two cakes and a hug. Which I fully intend to complete. I also consulted an actualfacts lawyer called fishwrites who is amazing and thank you so much for answering all my questions that now look super silly but you indulged me anyway.
> 
> **This chapter is NFSW. Enjoy :)**

**-:-**

**“The measure of a man is not how much he suffers in the test, but how he comes out at the end.”**

**\--Neil Shusterman, _UnWholly_**

**-:-**

** Chapter 13 **

When Darcy wakes, Bucky is sitting up on the bed.

Sunlight peaks through the partially closed blinds, lighting half of Bucky’s frame in a warm glow. Her eyes fall to the knife held loosely in his grip, then slowly trace up to his face. Her mouth parts to speak when Bucky’s eyes slide to hers.  

“Someone’s here.”

Darcy blinks, shifting to sit up. “Pepper made her house a base. There’ll always be someone.” Her eyes flit to the door, worry starting to chase away the haze of sleep. “…Is it a bad someone?”

The tension loosens from his body when Bucky looks back towards the door. “Get dressed,” he tells her. “It’s the lawyer.”

Darcy’s eyes narrow. “What, do you have bionic vision now too? You can see through doors?”

Bucky’s lips twitch. “Yes. And no, I can’t see through anything. I just heard him say his name when Pepper answered the door.”

Cause for alarm momentarily deviated, Darcy stands up and stretches. “Why do you think he is here? Didn’t think lawyers came directly to clients like this—not that he knows _we’re_ here.”

Bucky give a half-shrug and tucks the knife back under his pillow. “I’m gonna guess it’s got something to do with me.”

When they finally step into the living room, Pepper and Nelson are sitting on the sofa, already in deep discussion. Pepper glances up at them, and Darcy’s heart can’t help but clench at the worry reflecting in her eyes.

“I was just going to get you,” Pepper gestures for them to sit.

Nelson smiles tightly at Bucky. “Morning. Sleep alright?” Bucky stares at Nelson questioningly. “Sorry, I suck at small talk. I normally don’t do house calls but this…this is pretty urgent.”

Bucky glances at Pepper, then back to Nelson. “Okay.”

Nelson inhales slowly, building up courage for what looks like something very difficult to say. “Okay. In order to clear you name, you need to leave.”

Bucky frowns. Darcy snaps, “What?”

“The country. You need to leave the country as soon as possible.”

“But we just got here,” Darcy looks to Pepper in disbelief, but she only bites her lip with worry. “Don’t we need to be here to help Bucky? Doesn’t there have to be a trial? _Anything_?”

“This—let me tell you, this is really, truly out of my league,” Nelson looks as overwhelmed as he sounds, wringing his hands together. “Yesterday, I don’t know—so much was happening, I didn’t get to look through the files completely, I needed time to catch up. But I’ve caught up. And Bucky _needs_ to leave the country and go back into like, official hiding until his name can get cleared.” He glances at Bucky. “How many people know you’re in New York?”

Bucky’s eyes flicker away uncomfortably. “Everyone in this house. Steve’s people. Couple of banged up Hydra agents.”

Nelson mutters unintelligibly under his breath and rubs his fingers over his temples. “Okay, okay, it’ll be fine…just, pack your stuff. I already spoke with Miss Potts, she’ll make arrangements for you to safely leave the country—”

“Where will we go?” Darcy asks, confusion leaking into her voice. Bucky has gone mute beside her and it’s not helping Darcy’s agitation one bit. “You need to explain this a bit more Mr. Nelson so we can catch up.”

Nelson purses his lips. “There’s a warrant on Bucky’s arrest. There was a shoot-to-kill order before that, and with his alleged crimes this isn’t something that’s going to public trial. This is military.”

Bucky stiffens beside her.

“Military court?” Darcy repeats.

“Yes. Bucky was a soldier; this goes straight to military. And I’ll tell you exactly what’s going to happen, if General Ross and the Sokovia Accords tell us anything; they’re going to lock him up, ship him to an isolated prison, and he’s going to be there for the rest of his natural life. Which, Mr. Barnes, and I don’t mean to overstep, but given how long you’ve lived, it’s going to be a very long time before your natural life comes to an end. We do not want this going to military.”

Bucky’s hand clenches and unclenches by his thigh, his gaze burning a hole through his lap.

“So you think we should leave the country…he’s going to be on the run for possibly the rest of his life?” Darcy shakes her head disbelievingly. “That’s the solution?”

“It’s _a_ solution for a very difficult problem, Miss Lewis,” Nelson retorts. “Until we get his name cleared, he needs to be in a country where he won’t be extradited by the U.S. government.”

“Which is how?” Pepper asks him, folding her arms over her lap. “What’s your plan of action?”

Nelson clears his throat, nodding at Pepper. “Well, something I learned from previous cases is how media outlets and public opinion really do influence the outcome of these things. We find a way to sway the public attention away from what they’re feeding us on the news and move towards questioning the story they’re telling us. As for Bucky, the only thing that will get him out of this? Official pardon.” Nelson swallows hard, and Darcy can almost taste the nervous energy rolling off of him. “A presidential pardon.”

The room is silent for a beat. Then, “Seriously?” Darcy can’t believe what she’s hearing. “Dude. Our president signed off on the Accords to discipline the Avengers. The Avengers! You think he’s going to be okay with pardoning Bucky?”

“It’s our only option,” Nelson says impatiently. Darcy winces. “I’m sorry, but parts of our government are already against you, Mr. Barnes. There’s so much under-handed shit happening around the Accords, around the Wakanda strike, and around _you_ that there’s not much that can be done at this point. You want to be free? We need to ask the one guy who can overrule the military.”

Bucky is silent for a while. He looks up at Nelson grimly. “Okay.”

**-:-**

Bucky’s gone back to the room, presumably to clear out the few things he and Darcy had unpacked in the one night they’d stayed in Pepper’s penthouse. She sighs wistfully. The idea of being back out there, on the run and constantly looking over their shoulders, doesn’t much appeal to Darcy. She is starting to miss the quieter days on the boat. Or in the beginning, when Bucky and Darcy were just two strangers in a tea shop. Something simpler.

Darcy hovers nervously behind Pepper’s chair as the woman in question starts up the sleek desktop computer on her desk. “So Steve’s really on board?” Darcy asks her.

Pepper smiles brightly at Darcy and nods. “He is! He’s already written up a speech—I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but he’s really good at this kind of thing. It’s what helped him during the Hydra breach—or so I heard. Tony never did talk about the Captain as much as his other colleagues.”

“I heard some of them online. They’re definitely motivating. I can barely land a solid punch but after hearing one of his spiels online from the footage they got during the Hydra breach, I was ready to fight in his name.”

“It’s impressive,” Pepper says fondly. “Okay, switch with me.” Darcy sits a little awkwardly on the ergonomic chair once Pepper stands up, swiveling around a bit to adjust.

“So you want all of it? Military photos of Bucky during his service, childhood photos…”

“All of it,” Pepper says firmly. “We need as much of Bucky’s past life as we can get. The public needs to see the war hero, the man who fought for his country. The boy that he was before he got drafted. The Howling Commandos are darlings of the country, and this will remind them that Bucky is exactly that.”

“You know, I’m surprised no one’s done this already,” Darcy muses as she starts firing away on the keyboard. “Did the entire country simultaneously forget who Bucky Barnes is? It’s like they hear ‘Winter Soldier’ and they’ve divorced him into two personas.”

“There’s chatter. But we need _noise_.”

Darcy flashes Pepper a wry grin. “Are you going to bring in the noise? Bring down the house?”

Pepper hides a grin with her tongue pressed firmly against her cheek.

Darcy works quietly for several minutes, pulling up the photos from the datamine she’d accessed just a few days ago on the boat with Bucky. “I think that’s all of them,” Darcy says finally when all the photos are set to download. She looks up at Pepper. “There’s some videos in there too, but it’s likely the same ones they show in the museums and stuff. Some of this is already public access.”

“That’s more than enough,” Pepper smiles gratefully. Darcy hesitates.

“Can I ask you something?”

Pepper raises a brow.

“You got out,” Darcy starts. Pepper’s eyes flare, knowing exactly what she means. “What was it? What was the last thing that made you think, enough is enough? You don’t have to tell me if it’s too personal, I just…wondered.”

Pepper purses her lips, nodding. “No, it’s a valid question. I ask myself that every once in a while.” She shrugs with a faint smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’ve been with Tony professionally and personally for a very long time. You start to ask yourself why you’re doing the things you are—is it for yourself? Is it for both of us?” Pepper shrugs again. “I can’t give you answer, Darcy. I’m afraid I just don’t have one.”

Darcy nods slowly. “That’s fine. It makes sense.”

When Darcy motions to leave, Pepper gently rests her hand on Darcy’s shoulder. “Darcy. You should know that you don’t… _have_ to go. I know the reason you came this far was not just for him, but for your own safety. Hydra was targeting you.”

Darcy eyebrows shoot up. “Are they not still?”

“The ones who attacked you two in England have already been dismantled, according to Steve. The agents that attacked when you came to the city have been dealt with. My point it, you’d be safe now. You’re under our protection. If you wanted, you could go back to England and pick back up where you left off. You don’t have to go on with this plan if you don’t want to.”

Heart hammering in her chest, Darcy manages, “That’s really great to know, Pepper.”

**-:-**

Bucky’s not in the room when she gets there. She notices his bag on the floor by the bed, packed and ready. Darcy swallows and moves around the bed to find her own.

The jailbroken phone sits where she left it last, at the bottom of her pack in the second compartment. Relieved to find it still somewhat charged, Darcy punches in Jane’s number.

“Damn it,” Darcy mutters when she hears it go to voicemail. She throws the phone back in the bag and sits on the bed. Groaning, Darcy falls back and stares at the ceiling.

The door opens quietly, and Darcy arches her neck to see Bucky silently closing it behind him. “Hey,” she says softly. She starts sitting up but Bucky just shakes his head, settling on the bed. Darcy sags against the sheets again, a smile tugging at her lips when she feels his hand start stroking her hair back.

“Hey.”

“Huh, so you do speak.” Bucky quirks a brow. Darcy shrugs. “Could’ve fooled me. You all but clam up every time Nelson tries talking to you.”

Bucky shrugs, fingers continuing to run smoothly along her scalp. Darcy has to bite back a sigh. Damn if he isn’t good with his hands.

“Guess I don’t got much to say.”

“I mean…if there’s a time to say stuff, I think now’s it, dude. This is kind of literally about your life.”

“You’re right,” Bucky says simply.

“No, I’m serious—wait. I am?” Darcy looks up at him skeptically, although deciphering his face is a little more difficult when it’s upside down.

“You are. This is about me, right?” Bucky asks her.

“Uh…right….” Darcy narrows her eyes when Bucky nods firmly.

“Right. And I heard from Steve just now that they got the Hydra tails on us. Coast is clear for now, and wide open for you.”

Darcy pulls Bucky’s hand away from her hair and sits up. “Did he now.”

“He did.”

Bucky watches her carefully. Darcy presses her lips together and nods in agreement.

“Well that’s great. Real good news for the good guys. Hey Bucky, remember that little talk we had on the ship? You know, when you said some things and I said some things and I sort of cried, and you were like _‘Stay’_ and I was all _‘I’m not going anywhere_ ’? Remember that? Because I sure remember it.” Darcy has to smother a laugh when Bucky grimaces.

“But Darcy—”

“And then I said ‘Goonies never die’—”

“I _still_ don’t know what that means—”

“—and then I promised we’d watch that movie together, and _how_ will we watch that together without being in the same place at the same time for a little while longer? Also, whoops!” Darcy’s hand snakes down to her pack and fishes out her laptop. “Look at this! My laptop is here and oh, I think it just opened. I’m remembering a promise I made you to show some footage of myself that Shield got on me in New Mexico and England.”

Bucky sighs, holding out his arm so Darcy can nestle against his shoulder as she pulls up a video on the screen.

“Is that a robot shooting fire from its face?” Bucky scowls at the screen.

“That sure is, Bucky.”

“…You rescued all the animals from the shelter.”

“I sure did, Bucky.”

“That metal thing just shot fire at the shelter. You just barely missed it.”

“Guess I’m just lucky, Bucky.”

A little smile is creeping on Bucky’s lips, and Darcy doesn’t trust it. “What’s so funny?”

“You’re younger here.”

Darcy’s eyes widen and she smacks his thigh lightly. “Take that back! I look young always!”

Bucky snorts and his arm holds her a little tighter. “You _are_ young, doll. But I can tell you’re younger in this video. It’s not a bad thing.” Bucky pauses. “How old are you, really?”

Darcy sniffs. “Old enough, believe me.”

Bucky’s more alarmed when she shows him the Dark Elves and Darcy weaving through the streets under chaos like a champ. Seeing Ian next to her is admittedly not as fun, bringing back a tiny pocket of awkward memories when she had to explain that victory kisses borne from adrenaline didn’t really count as dating. Speaking of kisses, “We’re just going to skip over _that_ ,” Darcy mutters quickly under her breath as she taps on the mousepad.

“Did you just kiss him? While dipping him?” Bucky starts laughing and Darcy makes a face.

“He was small and light! It made sense to dip him!” Darcy defends, but her mock outrage breaks when a laugh bubbles out of her. “Whatever. You totally missed the part where I drop him a second later. He complained about his sore tailbone for like, the rest of the day.”

“You didn’t need to show me these, Darce. Already seen firsthand you can get by,” Bucky’s hand reaches up from her waist to lightly tug at a strand of her hair, wrapping it around his forefinger. “That’s not what I’m worried about so much.”

Darcy reaches over to his other hand, taking the metal fingers into her own and running her thumb gently across the small metal plates. They shift minutely under her touch, little soft whirs barely audible. She hears Bucky sigh quietly. “I know what you’re worried about. And it’s like I said…there’s nothing I can do to salvage the summer classes. I’m stuck until October when the fall session starts. It’s still July. I don’t exactly have anywhere else to be, right? And,” Darcy squeezes his hand, smiling when he softly squeezes back. “I…I want to.” Darcy looks up at him. “You want me?”

Bucky stares at Darcy, his hands going still against her. She lets out a small gasp when he surges forward and covers her lips with his own, drawing a moan from her when his mouth does a thing that sends a warm thrill through her body. Her hand automatically comes up to cup his jaw, sighing against his mouth.

She takes the kiss as answer enough.

Darcy barely registers the knock on the door until she hears a throat clear. “Sorry to interrupt.” Bucky pulls away first, looking as dazed as she does, but not at all surprised that Steve is standing at their door. Knowing Bucky, he probably sensed Steve’s approach before he even knocked on the door.

Steve cleared his throat again. “Pepper called the rest of the team. It’s time to plan.”

**-:-**

“Huh.” Darcy stares at Clint. “I know you.” Clint smiles. Darcy glares. “Where the fuck is my iPod, man?”

“Oh we threw that away a long time ago,” Clint replies easily. Bucky just barely wraps an arm around Darcy’s middle when she starts towards Clint.

“I thought you retired,” Sam slung an arm around Clint’s shoulders.

“Yeah,” Clint shrugs lightly. “I got bored. I can’t go five minutes without all of you guys turning into idiots.”

“You can thank Tony Stark and General Ross for this vacation from hell.”

“More Avengers. This is awesome,” Nelson says weakly from the back. He’s clutching his briefcase tightly, but a single glance tells Bucky it’s less from fear and more a tether to ground himself. Nelson looks to Pepper. “This a daily thing?”

“More often than not,” Pepper tells him.

“And…and you’re sure we can…” Clint eyes Wanda then Scott, then over to Sam who’s laughing at something Steve’s said.

“Trust them? Completely. You have nothing to worry about, Mr. Nelson.”

“Please,” Nelson shakes his head as his lips twist in a small smile, quirking up as if he was in on a joke the rest don’t know. “After all we’ve been through now? Call me Foggy.”

“I hear something about needing to get out of the country?” Sam looks at Bucky when he asks this, and Bucky nods hesitantly.

“We do need a little time though,” Pepper winces. “I’m not Tony and Steve doesn’t have that kind of resource on demand, so it’s going to take a few days to…um…”

“Commandeer?” Steve suggests.

Pepper points at Steve and nods quickly. “Yes! Commandeer a quinjet. Or a plane. Or whatever the team can get their hands on. It’ll take me a few days to arrange it so it doesn’t look off…until then, it’s best for you two,” Pepper look between Darcy and Bucky, “to relocate somewhere away from the base we’ve set up here. Like, complete hiding. We don’t want you found out if Tony finds everyone—or worse.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Darcy nods.

“Listen,” Nelson—Foggy?—turns to Bucky. He looks at Bucky seriously. “I know we’ve gone over everything. I got your history inside out, and it’s a pretty compelling argument to get you cleared. But I’m going to be honest—we still don’t have a way to prove you weren’t following Hydra’s orders of your own free will. And that’s where it’s going to lead to in the end, and if we don’t have evidence…”

“I do have evidence,” Bucky says suddenly. His eyes dart to Darcy, searching her. He sees exactly when it dawns on her too. Her mouth parts and she clutches wildly at his sleeve.

“The triggers!” Darcy gasps.

“What triggers?” Steve looks between Bucky and Darcy with a frown.

“We just have to access the encrypted files from the Hydra breach,” Darcy says to Bucky quietly.

“That document didn’t have the trigger words, though,” Bucky murmurs to Darcy. “That won’t work. It was formulaic, just an outline.”

“What triggers? What are you talking about?” Foggy’s brows knit together in confusion.

Bucky glances at him. “It’s how they made me comply. What they did every time they pulled me out of the ice and sent me on a mission.” His jaw tightens. “It’s a list of trigger words that reset me into Winter Soldier mode.”

“…And if we can find proof of those words and how they were used, we have substantial evidence to prove you were not in control when you carried out those assassinations,” Foggy breathes, his eyes lighting up like Christmas morning. “Fuck, _yes_! Sorry,” he lets out a short, embarrassed laugh, “unprofessional. But holy shit, this is exactly what we need. This is your ticket out, Mr. Barnes. Now all we need are those words.”

“Do you know where they are? Where we could find them?” Steve asks Bucky.

Bucky’s eyes shutter, forcing his mind to access that part of his capture he tried so often to forget. It comes back shortly, in small bursts of telegraphic flashes. “There was a book,” Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and visualizes it, remembering, reaching…“Red. With a star. It was the programming to all the Winter Soldiers.” Bucky opens his eyes. “It’s in a Hydra base in Siberia where we were kept. I can point to the coordinates.”

“Wait,” Scott, who had been silently listening up until now, throws his hand up. “ _Soldiers_? Winter _Soldiers_?” His eyes dart nervously around the room. “There’s more of you?”

Bucky smiles grimly, a bitter twist to his mouth. “More. And better.”

“Siberia,” Pepper says weakly, then immediately pulls out her phone. “Okay, this plane might take a little _longer_ …”

**-:-**

“Home sweet home,” Clint holds the door open for them, and Darcy and Bucky warily step in. The cabin is no worse than the farm base, much to Darcy’s relief. This time they are nearly two hours south of Paramus, landing somewhere remote and surrounded by more pine wood and evergreen than Darcy is entirely comfortable with.

“This was my uncle’s cabin back in the day. Everything should work—heat, hot water, electric—if not there’s a generator closet you can tinker with. You’re going dark again so I’m gonna need whatever tech you have and kill it.”

He looks pointedly at Darcy. Reluctantly, Darcy pulls out the laptop and the cellphone and hands it over to him. Clint smiles cheerfully. “Can I just make a call? One last time?” Darcy pleads.

“You were messing with the phone the whole drive down,” Clint frowns.

“I know, I think something’s wrong with the phone? I just want to check in with Jane.”

Clint hands the phone back, and Darcy quickly redials Jane’s number. “Fucker!” Darcy growls when it goes to voicemail again. She hands the phone back to Clint.

“Sorry sweetheart,” Clint winces in sympathy. “I’ll be back every three days. Don’t leave the cabin unless absolutely necessary, but there’s about twenty acres here and privacy is good in these parts.” Clint stuffs Darcy’s laptop and phone in his bag and pulls out a plastic flip phone. “For emergencies. It only dials to me.”

Darcy accepts the antiquated piece of equipment with a frown. “You owe me an iPod, Barton.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Can you—can you check on Jane Foster for me? She’s not answering her phone and I’m getting a little worried.”

Clint nods. “Will do.” He nods once at Bucky, then flashes Darcy a quick smile. “See you in three days.”

Darcy watches through the window as Clint tosses his bag into the passenger seat of the car and jumps in, then speeds away down the gravel road.

“You know, I’m no stranger to the nomad life,” Darcy wanders from the window to the living room, brushing her fingertips along the sofa and inspecting the furniture. “Working with Jane for so long meant going from location to location for wherever she needed to collect data. But boy, I’ve never stayed at five different places in two weeks before.” She flashes Bucky a grin. “Jane likes to draw out her observational trips.”

Bucky returns her grin with a smirk. “Doll, you ain’t seen nothing.”

“Yeah?”

“Oxford was the longest I ever stayed in one place. Honestly, it was.”

Darcy glances at him. “What made you stay so long?”

“Can’t tell you. Was mostly just tired.” A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I did wander in a shop, though. _Tea House_. Stayed there a whole week ’cause I liked watching a girl study.”

Darcy presses her lips together and tries to hide a smile that Bucky sees anyway. “Would you want that?”

“Hm?”

“To study. Go to school for something.”

Bucky huffs. “Think that part of my life is done, Darcy.”

“I don’t think so at all,” Darcy replies. “Seriously. You’re still young—you are. And even that isn’t necessary for education, elderly people go back and get their degrees all the time. When this shit blows over and you’re a free man, would something like that interest you?”

Bucky stares at her for a long moment, unable to fully process the dream Darcy was conjuring for him. “I…I don’t know.”

Darcy accepts that with a small hum. She reaches the small coffee table and picks up the remote, looking up at the flat panel television hanging above the mantle. Darcy grins with delight when it turns on and the news plays back at them, droning softly in the living room. She reaches for him, slinging an arm across his back, and Bucky welcomes it with an arm over her shoulders.

“What would you study?” Darcy asks him softly.

Bucky, for all the world in him, can’t explain how the answer comes as easily as it does, rolling off his tongue without a second thought. “I’d be an engineer.”

**-:-**

“A whole week,” Darcy grumbles under her breath, shoving a pot in the sink and blasting hot water over it. “I thought leaving the country was urgent. All that ‘you’ll be sent to scary raft prison on sight’ stuff.”

“Barton said Pepper managed to get us a quinjet,” Bucky calls from the living room, sauntering over to the small kitchen where Darcy was cleaning up the aftermath of dinner.

“I know what he said, he was here ten minutes ago. _And_ stayed for dinner. We’re already rationed as it is and he goes and eats all the frozen peas.”

“You hate peas.”

“I never said such a thing, what are these terrible lies you’re saying against me?”

“You shove them on my plate when you think I’m not looking.”

“Well clearly someone’s paying a bit too much attention to me and my food shoving habits than on chewing your food exactly thirty times before swallowing. Priorities, Bucky.”

Bucky snorts and Darcy feels his arms snake around her waist, pulling her back against his chest as he drops a kiss on her cheek and another, longer kiss on her neck that leaves Darcy’s skin tingling, her hands letting go of the dish. “You’re just picky,” Bucky says in her ear. He narrowly avoids a flick of soap suds.

“At least he got in touch with Jane,” Darcy notes, with no small bit of satisfaction. It’d been gnawing away at Darcy for not having any contact with her best friend, especially if the reason behind it was Jane being targeted and in trouble because of Darcy. She still desperately wants to talk to her, almost needs it at this point. Darcy doesn’t know what she’d do for even a glimpse of her, to hear her voice again.

Darcy wipes down the last dish in the rack and glances around the kitchen. “Hey, you still have the mug? I don’t see it—” Darcy walks out of the kitchen into the living room, and goes still.

Bucky stands, frozen, in front of the television as a news reel flickers before him. Darcy creeps closer, but her heart lifts when she hears the news anchor’s words.

“…new viral video that’s taken the internet by storm. With over twelve million views in just under three days, the plea for a closer look on the controversial Sokovia Accords—and of the man allegedly responsible for King T’Chaka’s assassination—has been made by no other than Captain America…”

“Oh my god, Pepper’s video!” Darcy shrieks with excitement, crowding close to the television. Bucky numbly steps back.

The screen flashed with photos of Bucky—all which Darcy has seen, having pulled them off the online files—and she grins at Steve’s somber tenor, the photos switching seamlessly into videos of Bucky and Steve looking over war plans, dressed smartly in their Howling Commando gear. Bucky, laughing with Steve off-camera; a young, toothy Bucky with a tiny Steve standing on the front steps of a weathered Brooklyn apartment; a rare photo of Bucky injured that Darcy hasn’t seen, with hollows in his cheeks and a crescent-shaped cut under his eye, and Steve’s voice explaining in the background of Bucky’s first confinement as a prisoner of war.

“He was captured again by Hydra, trying to protect me and the people of this country,” Steve’s image appeared on the screen, dressed in no other than the Captain uniform. “And has been a prisoner of war the last seven decades. The information is out there. The facts are clear. I’m not from this time, but I know all it takes is a click of a button and you’ll find the truth that nobody wants to talk about and what they’re trying to hide. Open your minds and start. Asking. Questions.” He smiles a little, glancing down. “And if you asked me, I’d check the Wakanda attack again.” Steve lifts his head, staring grimly into the camera. “Help us clear Bucky Barnes’s name. Help us, so we can finally bring one of our own soldiers home.”

The clip ends and the news anchors start discussing it. “Viral…” Darcy breathes. “And Steve—wow, he did a bang-up job as usual, right? And Pepper, she’s just amazing, to have done this so quickly, leaked it without a trace, and it going _viral_? Bucky?” Darcy finally glances behind her, and the smile slips from her face. “Bucky. Oh my…”

He’s still standing, staring unblinkingly at the screen. A fine tremor runs through his hands, both flesh and metal alike. “Hey,” Darcy voice goes soft, taking a slow step towards him. “Let’s sit down, okay? Sofa’s right behind you. All you have to do is sit.” Darcy doesn’t reach for him, not yet. “Come on Bucky, you can do it. We’re just going to sit.”

The words must compute for slowly, unsteadily, Bucky lowers himself onto the sofa. Darcy mirrors his movements and sits down with him. Carefully, within Bucky’s line of sight, Darcy tucks a strand of hair behind Bucky’s ear.

The feather light contact does it; Bucky exhales, breath coming out of him in sharp, ragged bursts, his jaw trembling with the effort to stay closed. Darcy strokes his hair back, watching him as he breathes in, then out, already familiar with the method, already having lived through this before.

“Was it the video?” Darcy asks quietly.

Bucky doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are focused somewhere below the mantle and the dusty pit of the fireplace, his body eerily stiff and gaze unwavering.

“It was before.”

Darcy looks up at him. The hunted look is gone, replaced by something empty. This Bucky is hollowed, unseeing. It terrifies her.

“You were in the kitchen. They were talking about me before showing Steve’s video.” Bucky’s gaze wander back to the television which now plays an advertisement on some form of heart medication.

“What did they show?” Darcy’s voice is gentle, near a whisper. Her hand draws one last stroke to smooth down Bucky’s hair when he looks at her.

“They were talking about how I’m still alive. They showed Zola.”

Darcy’s heart constricts in her chest, and she glances back at the television as if expecting to see his picture there right now.

“He’s dead,” Darcy replies, attempting at comfort if not for the slight edge to her voice. An edge that only increases when Bucky turns away to stare at the mantle again. “He died a long time ago.”

“He’s never dead,” Bucky says coldly. “He’ll never die.”

**-:-**

There’s something telling about who Bucky was before when he was still with Hydra and who Bucky is now.

Bucky then did not think about being tired. It didn’t compute. Usually, missions wouldn’t exert him all that much anyway. They were quick, calculated.

Faint, misted memories unfurl in the recesses of his mind as he recalls one time—one time when there was too much blood. It stained his hands and the metal arm, down the front of his tac gear. It stuck to the side of his jaw, long hair clinging wetly to his skin. They were unhappy about it; cleaning dried blood from ever-shifting metal plates was not easy. That time, though, Bucky remembers feeling something Other. He’s probably felt it before, or else they wouldn’t keep sticking him in the chair.

But this kill was different; he remembered remnants of the… _something_ …and it never left. It made the missions a little sharper. He could see clearer. Bucky thinks now that maybe it was clarity, a sense of awakening and acknowledgement at the things the Asset does, not just a series of motions set in a mission statement. But he never had time to think about it so he never did—he pushed it back, sat angrily in the chair, and let frozen tendrils of sleep unwillingly consume him.

Now, as Bucky lies in their bed, Darcy huddled against him facing his chest, he could not be more different. He feels. He’s allowed—he’s encouraged. Yet part of Bucky’s prior program still rises up in a mix of anger and fear. _Defiance will be punished_.

Bucky looks down at Darcy, and the thought is laughable.

He starts a little in surprise when Darcy runs the back of her knuckles along his shoulder.

“I thought you were asleep,” Bucky murmurs.

“Not for very long,” Darcy replies. Her eyes flicker over him. “A little better?”

“A little.”

“Did _you_ sleep?”

Bucky shrugs. Darcy widens her eyes accusingly and scrunches her lips in a grumpy pout, and Bucky can’t help but grin. “A little bit, I promise.”

“Good. Because it’s,” Darcy glances around for a clock she can’t actually see in the dark bedroom, “what-the-fuck o’clock, and sleep is a thing we should definitely try for. Especially if tomorrow we, surprise, surprise, have a quinjet soft-land in front of the cabin.”

“Alright, doll. I’ll rest.” And he wants to. He’s tired. He’s so tired.

Darcy snuggles closer to him, burrowing her head into his chest as they lie facing each other. Bucky sighs quietly and lets his hand gently slide down the length of her arm. “Night,” he hears her mumble. Then she tilts her chin up, inching closer, and Bucky softly kisses her.

He expects that to be all it is. But his lips linger, and so do hers. They pull back before Darcy leans forward and kisses Bucky properly, long and deep until it sets him alight.

She pulls back this time, keeping him aloft with her fingers fanned out across his jaw. Her eyes darken when she runs her thumb across his lower lip, watching him. Metal fingers wrap around her wrist and pull Darcy’s hand away, wanting to taste her lips again—and Bucky does, crushing her mouth against his, limbs tangling frantically together on the bed sheets.

Darcy pushes him onto his back and climbs over him, then kisses him again. He groans into her mouth—he feels like liquid underneath her, warm and feverish and wanting to touch her, needing to feel her closer, _much_ closer—Bucky lets out a moan when Darcy leaves his lips to press hot kisses down his neck. His hips jerk up when she sucks the skin at the juncture of his neck. “ _Darcy_ ,” he breathes.

Darcy leans back up, tilting her head at him contemplatively. His eyes flicker to her mouth when she licks her lips, licking the taste of his mouth. A shiver goes through him when she runs her hands slowly down his chest. Her fingernails catch on the hem of his shirt and she slips her hands underneath, caressing his skin as they travel back up to where they started. His shirt has ridden up beyond his belly, and when Darcy slides her hands back down she leans in and presses a soft kiss to his navel.

“We could still rest,” Darcy suggests. Bucky could laugh. There is no way he’s resting now. The only way anything could stop him was throwing him back in cryo and forcing him asleep.

Darcy’s shaking and Bucky realizes he said that last bit aloud, and Darcy’s holding back laughter. “I mean, super morbid, but I get the point.” And it’s there then—she’d given him an out. He didn’t take.

Bucky’s hips jerk when Darcy palms him through his pajamas. A half-grin tugs at Darcy’s lips and she leans down to whisper in his ear, “You liked that?”

Bucky’s hand comes up to grab a fistful of loose curls where they tumble over his face, and he answers a short, breathless, “ _Yes_.”

Darcy leans back and pulls off her night shirt, and it leaves Bucky’s throat dry. The last few days in the cabin they had danced around this, and he had seen a good amount of breathless, gasping Darcy with his hand up her shirt and palming her breast as his mouth plundered hers. Shirtless Darcy? Not until now. And Bucky thanked his enhanced vision that could cut through the darkness better than most.

“For your viewing pleasure,” Darcy grins, as if reading his mind.

Bucky pauses. “Just mine?”

Darcy smiles, nodding slowly. “Just yours.”

His eyes are glued to her in a daze as she rises on her knees and pulls down the drawstring pants and the boxers down his thighs. He’s already hard, been hard since Darcy started kissing him in earnest. Bucky sees the desire plainly from the way Darcy looks at him. It makes his heart stutter in his chest.

He hisses at her first touch. Her fingers are soft, gentle. They run down the length of him, silken skin against soft warmth. Bucky’s jaw clenches when she rolls him down and her thumb glides over his slit, spreading the moisture that already started to leak.

“Darcy…”

Darcy’s eyes flicker up at Bucky but her fingers never stops moving. They close around him, dragging down his cock then back up until Bucky looks away from her eyes to what she’s doing with her hands. He bites back a moan when she twists her wrist a bit and he reaches for her, squeezing her shoulders.

“Sweet Bucky,” Darcy sighs, and Bucky’s eyes nearly shutter closed at how good this feels, how good she _makes_ him feel. “I’m going to taste you, now.”

His eyes fly open in time to watch Darcy lean down and run her tongue over his head. Bucky moans loudly and his hips arch up off the bed. When’s the last time he had _this_? Fuck—after Azzano? After a mission in—in—

He barely grapples with restraint when Darcy wraps her mouth around him—slow, teasing, with her hands and her tongue working him until all he feels is Darcy, all he hears are his labored breaths and the wet sound of her tongue running along his length.

Darcy’s mouth swallows him down and Bucky thinks he sees stars— _“Fuck_ , Darcy. Oh my _god_ …” Her eyes meet his and she hums. Bucky’s legs shift restlessly against the mattress, his hands leaving Darcy’s shoulders to curl into the sheets.

This—this was too much, watching Darcy get him off, and—“Darcy,” he tries to tell her but he’s not sure if he actually managed her name or a breathless imitation of it. Darcy doesn’t let up, and his breath bursts out in sharp, labored gasps and he hears the fabric rip in his grip as he comes hard, hips twitching beyond his power of control. It soars through him and wrings him out and leaves him boneless, and only then does Darcy slide away.

When he finally comes down, Bucky turns to her where she’s settled against his side, nestled against his shoulder. Darcy smiles happily, lips swollen, and Bucky pants, “That. Yes. To that.”

Darcy muffles a laugh into his shoulder and Bucky pushes the hair away from her face and pulls her into a hard kiss.

Darcy squeaks when Bucky flips her onto her back. His lips press warm kisses down her throat, nipping and sucking on his way down, with his hands running down her bare waist and kneading the flesh of her hips. “You…you don’t…this was yours,” Darcy breathes, whimpering when Bucky’s tongue darts across a clothed nipple before gently biting down.

Bucky lifts his head to look Darcy in the eye. “And this is yours.” Darcy swallows.

She doesn’t bring it up again. She lifts up a bit so he can unclasp her bra and she tosses it to the side of the bed. She sighs into him when he takes nipple into her mouth and rolls his tongue around it gently before tugging it lightly with his teeth. His hand tends to her other breast, tweaking and rolling until she’s shifting underneath him impatiently, hips lifting into his.

At the first slide of his finger down her slit Darcy exhales loudly. Her legs open for him almost on their own as he rubs her slowly through her panties. “Bucky,” Darcy whispers against his throat, her hand sliding across his shoulders. He slips past the lace trim and groans into Darcy’s shoulder when his fingers glide easily across her folds. “You slippery wet for me, doll?” Bucky says quietly, smiling a little when Darcy nods with a little grin of her own.

The smile turns into a choked whimper when he gathers some of the wetness and swirls it over her clit. Her thighs shudder as he circles around her, gentle and firm and loving the way she’s moaning softly, arching into his hand as he draws pleasure from her. Her hips buck against him and Bucky can hear her silent plea.

Darcy looks at Bucky in surprise when he leans away and shifts down, and doubly surprised and eager when he drags her panties down and tosses them over his shoulder. “It’s only fair,” Bucky explains, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he pushes her legs apart wide before him.

“Totally fair,” Darcy sighs, dropping her head back against the pillow when Bucky’s tongue drags over her slit and licks into her.

It sends a thrum of excitement through Bucky when Darcy breaks from muffled gasps to long, hitching moans—his tongue flicks over her clit over and over, swirling around it until her legs start to shake and a breathless litany of, “Bucky, _oh_ —” fills the air. Her hips start riding his fingers as they curl up into her, rubbing the soft flesh inside and sucking on her clit until she’s arching off her back and her nails scrape his shoulders, crying out. He holds her down and continues until her body stiffens, her hips suddenly convulsing beneath him as her thighs tremble against his shoulders.

“Bucky,” Darcy paws desperately at Bucky’s hair and tries to both pull him closer and push him away. He gives her one last kiss on the inside of her thigh before climbing up to collapse next to her, both of them breathless and spent.  

Eventually they climb under the covers, and Bucky holds Darcy close against his chest. His knuckles smooth down her back as Darcy trails her fingers across his chest.

“The video was good,” Bucky mutters quietly.

“Yeah?” Darcy looks up at him.

Bucky nods, meeting her eyes. “I almost felt like him.”

Darcy shakes her head. “You _were_ him,” she chides lightly. “You make the same doofy expression when you think you said something real smartass. And your whole face still lights up the same when you laugh, getting a little crinkle right,” Darcy traces a finger well below Bucky’s eye, “here.” She seals the sentiment with a little kiss on the spot her finger had just trailed along.

“I don’t think I could’ve done this if you weren’t here, Darcy,” Bucky tells her softly, swallowing hard. “I don’t think I could have done this.”

Darcy bites her lip. “I think you could’ve. You would’ve done this. I believe that.” And then she smiles slyly, and Bucky feels it lift his whole heart. “But our way is more fun.”

Bucky huffs a laugh, pressing their foreheads together and linking their hands. “Can’t argue with that.”

“I mean, imagine if you did it your way. You’d be on a freighter, eating salty fish and soggy bread and you’d never be dry, Bucky.”

“Do you…do you know what freighters are like at all, Darcy? This is the second time you’ve said something like this.”

“Don’t argue with me, I definitely know what I’m talking about.”

“There’s no salty fish.”

“Shh, just let it happen.”

Bucky snorts and hugs her close, dragging her up so she lays partially on top of him. Darcy folds her elbows over Bucky’s chest and looks at him fondly.

A thought occurs to Bucky. “I’m getting you a pen and paper tomorrow.”

Darcy blinks. “Oh…okay?”

“You can’t call Jane, right? Barton said something about her phone being broken. And not like you can use a computer any time soon, right?”

“Right…?” Darcy tilts her head questioningly.

Bucky shrugs. “Write her a letter.”

Darcy stares at him. “I could give it to Barton to send to her.” Bucky nods. A slow smile spreads on her face until she’s beaming, and suddenly Darcy crawls up to press kisses to every inch of his face. “My old timey boyfriend! I love it! Oh my god,” Bucky laughs when she pauses to look down at Bucky, dazed with happiness. Bucky kisses her soundly on the lips.

For now, in spite of everything, he is alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a lot longer than I thought it would be! A lot! But it was worth it.
> 
> All the stuff about military court is legit. Refer to the top author's note. Hence, in my effort to make this fic as realistic as I can, some plotty ideas had to be tweaked. This chapter as always is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Did I totally use a fakedeep quote in the beginning as a double entendre to this chapter?....Yes. Yes I did.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed :) Until chapter 14! xx


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's been a while.
> 
> This chapter is relatively short, but heavy on the sweet. I have a lot I'm working on, and honestly with the climate these days it's hard finding a reason to write. But I wanted to put this chapter out, at least to have something to distract for anyone who's struggling.
> 
> Enjoy xxx

**-:-**

**“I shall either find a way or make one.”**

**\--** _Hannibal Barca_

**-:-**

** Chapter 14 **

They wake together.

Shifting limbs and tangled legs curl upon the mattress, the sun not quite up yet and early dawn light just barely peeking through the curtain. Darcy twists into a full body stretch, her back arching and her fingers curling into fists. The weight across her abdomen remains where it rests, rising and falling with her as she sighs. She cracks her eyes open when the hand resting over her skims across her skin in a soft caress.

Bucky watches her with hooded, sleepy eyes as he strokes his thumb along her naval.

“Morning.” His voice thick with sleep.

“Hey.” Darcy twists her lips, stopping a smile when Bucky’s fingers brush against her ribs, drifting higher and stopping just beneath the soft curve of her breast. “Sleep okay?”

“The best.”

“Really?”

“Mm.” Bucky traces circles on her skin, each time the tip of his thumb gently grazing against her breast before retreating. Darcy sighs quietly, leaning into his touch and her eyes fluttering closed when his thumb finally, finally brushes her nipple. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

“You’re just saying that because your hand is on my boob.”

She feels Bucky shake with silent laughter. The bed dips and lifts as Bucky rolls over her, one arm resting beside her head while the other strokes back her hair. Darcy shifts pleasantly beneath him, smiling at the tenderness in his eyes. Tenderness for her.

“It’s not just because of that,” Bucky tells her. His lips quirk up when he squeezes experimentally and watches Darcy’s eyes dilate.

“If your pants were still on they’d be on fire by now, buddy.” Darcy attempts at a vague, collected tone but it ends with a soft exhale when Bucky leans down to lick a stripe up her sternum. Her breath hitches when he plants a kiss on her throat. Raking her fingers through his hair, Darcy humors him, “Tell me, then. I’m curious.”

Bucky grins against Darcy’s skin and pulls away from her throat, the exact opposite of where she wants him to be. “Hmm…” Bucky’s eyes flicker over her, calculating. For exactly a tenth of a second Darcy almost shifts uncomfortably at the scrutiny, but the shadow of doubt is put to rest when he sits back on his knees and drags her up with him, settling Darcy comfortably on his lap to face him. The close skin-on-skin contact is intimate, warm. Darcy tries not to shiver when she feels him hard against her stomach.

Bucky’s hands slide slowly, reverently up Darcy’s back and tangle in her hair as Darcy drapes her arms over his shoulders.

“First, there’s this.” Bucky drops a soft kiss against Darcy’s temple. “The very first thing I ever noticed. The way your mind works…never fails to leave me stunned.” Bucky slides his hand through her hair, fingers running against her scalp as he tilts her head and presses gentle kisses against her eyelids. “I’ve never seen a dame with prettier eyes. One look and it’s like you see right through me. Used to scare me, at first.”

“And now?” Darcy asks him softly, linking her fingers behind his neck.

Bucky smirks, staring directly into her eyes. “I’m lookin’ at you, aren’t I?”

“Hilarious,” Darcy says wryly, and lets out a small yelp when Bucky’s arms tighten around her and he kisses her hard on her cheek, making her giggle. He pulls back and nudges her forehead with his. “Your smile. Made _me_ smile when I didn’t think I had any left in me anymore. The things you say…” Bucky traces her lips with his thumb, and Darcy exhales shakily, meeting his eyes. She’s satisfied to see the steady calm in them waver, looking at her openly with want.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me there too?” Darcy asks, urging him to get on with it and kiss her senseless, where she wants his lips the most.

Bucky shakes his head. “We’ll come back there later. I have other places to visit.”

“But my lips need yours.”

Bucky plants a series of kisses on her neck. “Not yet,” he mumbles into her skin.

“ _Bucky_.”

“I wanted to do this last night. Was distracted. I don’t want to get distracted right now; not for this.”

Darcy closes her eyes as his lips travel from her throat to her clavicle, her shoulder, her breast, followed closely by his tongue that tastes every inch of her. Neither register that the promise of words is forgotten, the sly commentary fading into soft sighs and hums as Bucky leans her back down to lay kisses down her stomach.

It gets to be too much, for the both of them. Bucky’s hand slides down her calf to kiss along her thigh and Darcy arches her back, moaning as her legs reflexively open wider. This time when she breathes his name Bucky pulls her back to sit up and their lips meet in a hard, demanding kiss. Darcy scrambles to get closer, bracketing her knees around his hips as Bucky pulls her flush against his chest. His mouth slides against hers as his tongue darts out to meet hers, breath stuttering when Darcy reaches between them to stroke him.

He tears his lips away, gasping in short breaths and pressing their foreheads together. Bucky meets Darcy’s eyes. Her fingers run through the hair at the nape of his neck to scrape against his scalp.

The sound of a phone vibrating causes them to freeze.

For a few seconds the only sound is their labored breathing and sudden stillness. Bucky finally swallows thickly and says, hesitantly, “That’s never rung before.”

Darcy lets out a shuttering breath. “No, it hasn’t. Fuck.”

Slowly and reluctantly, Darcy finally releases her grip on him and scoots backwards to the bedside table where the one-way phone sits. Unsurprisingly to Darcy, the number is restricted.

“…Clint?” Darcy guesses.

“Darcy?” His voice crackles through the flip phone. “I’m coming up in an hour. Tell Barnes.”

“Okay…why—?” but before Darcy can ask further, the line goes dead. Bucky looks carefully between the phone and Darcy as she sets it back down on the bedside table.

“I’m guessing you heard that,” Darcy says.

Bucky nods. “Maybe transport is ready.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Darcy sighs and collapses back against the bed, staring at the ceiling. The moment is broken, but Darcy can’t fathom wanting to pick up where they left off anyway—not with this hanging over their heads. The bed dips again and Bucky settles next to her. He sits, legs crossed and for modesty’s sake, yanks the blanket to cover himself. He stays that way for a minute before saying, “You don’t want to go.”

Darcy tilts her head to peer up at him. “I never said that.”

“You’re thinking it, though.”

“It doesn’t matter what I’m thinking,” Darcy shrugs, returning her stare to the ceiling. But she bites the corner of her lip, and Bucky traces a finger along her jaw to tilt her gaze back to him.

“Way I see it, your thinking has saved my neck a few times now.”

He doesn’t say more than that, and lets his hand drop back to his side. He’s waiting for her, she realizes. Darcy takes a few more seconds to collect her thoughts before sitting up to face him.

“I just don’t know. I wish we’d known better—maybe never came here in the first place. Took a train somewhere in Europe instead. I feel like we wasted our time trying to get back here, where the person we thought would help us is actually trying to get your locked away. Or worse.”

“We couldn’t have known. _I_ didn’t know.” Bucky shrugs, taking her hand and running his thumb over her knuckles. “Besides, we did get something done.”

“What’s that?”

Bucky looks at her for a moment before shaking his head, a half-smile curving the corner of his mouth. “ _You_ , doofus. You’re safe. You could walk right out of here on your own and the feds wouldn’t look twice at you. Hydra’s off your tail.”

Darcy rolls her eyes, tangling their fingers together tightly. “Somehow it doesn’t feel like sweet, sweet victory.”

“Gotta pick your battles sometimes, sweetheart.” Bucky gives a slight shrug. “It wasn’t a total loss. We got a lawyer trying to clear me. Pepper. Steve…everyone else. We’re not alone.”

“You’re right,” Darcy smiles weakly at him, but he sees right through it.

“Darcy.”

Darcy sighs, staring at their twined fingers. “I just…we worked so hard to get here. And managed to stay for a little over a week, until we’re being carted off to the next country—and I know, I _know_ , it’s for your own safety, you don’t want to be caught in States because then the plan’s fucked and you’ll be carted off to floaty prison—but it just…doesn’t feel like the thing we should be doing. It’s stalling time.”

Bucky tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

Darcy looks up to meet his eyes. “What we discussed with Nelson—going to Siberia. Getting that file. But that’s not where we’re going right now, is it? That’s where we _should_ be headed if we’re going to leave the country.”

“Pepper can only get us as far as—was it Germany she said?” Bucky frowns, repeating what Clint and Pepper have already told them. “The rest hasn’t…” Bucky breaks their gaze, eyes flickering as his mind works it over.

“We need to be smart about this, Bucky,” Darcy says quietly. “We’ve always gone on our instincts, and it’s helped us so far. What do _you_ think we should do?”

“I don’t know. I don’t…” Bucky thinks on this for a while, thumb still steadily brushing against her skin. “Before, it was easier getting around Europe. To go back, now…” Bucky’s fingers tighten around hers. “It’ll be messy. Too many threat potentials. And if we do go, then what you said is right. The focus needs to be on Siberia. But I don’t know how much I can travel without getting caught, at this point.”

“Bucky?” Darcy’s voice is soft, a hint of uncertainty making it tremble. He glances up at her with questioning eyes. “We can’t stick together for very long after all, can we.”

He looks away before she can catch the swell of emotions cross over his face. “I don’t think we can, doll.”

The imminent truth behind Bucky’s words hang in the air, thick with a heaviness of heart and the beginnings of the weary desperation.

**-:-**

Clint looks between Darcy and Bucky.

“You two, uh…seem cheerful.”

“Why the urgent call and visit?” Darcy asks him. She narrows her eyes and peeks over Clint’s shoulder. “Is that Steve?”

Clint follows Darcy’s gaze and nods, watching Steve wave at them as he pulls a pack of water from the trunk. “Yeah, he volunteered. Probably wants to see this one again,” Clint’s eyes flicker to Bucky, who shifts next to Darcy with subtle discomfort. “And yeah the call—there’s a shift in schedule. I’m heading back in the field tonight so I won’t be coming for two weeks.” Clint nods back at his car parked in front of the cabin. “Came to drop some supplies.”

“That chopper ready?” Bucky asks.

“It’s not a…” Clint clears his throat at Bucky’s expression. “No, not yet. Pepper’s still on it. Quietly commandeering quinjets isn’t as simple as people mistakenly think.”

Bucky nods. “Good. There’s a change in plan. We’re going dark.”

Clint blinks. “Right. Isn’t that what you’re already doing?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No contact. We relocate on our own. Cancel the quinjet; we’re not leaving the country just yet.”

“But,” Clint looks between Bucky and Darcy in disbelief. “It’s not necessary. We’ve got this.”

“What’s not necessary?” Steve halts behind Clint at the front door to the cabin, four packs of water in his arms. His eyes flicker over to Darcy, nodding, before landing on Bucky. “Hey, Buck.”

“They want to break from the group and go dark on their own.” Clint says to Steve without looking away from Bucky and Darcy.

Steve’s pleasant smile instantly disappears. “You think that’s a good idea?” He looks directly at Bucky.

Bucky meets Steve’s eyes. “Coming and going this soon is going to attract attention, Steve. We need more time before I can go anywhere. Hydra is always watching, and after your bit on the television I’d say it’s better to lay low.”

Bucky thinks he sees a flash of pink on Steve’s ears but Steve moves away, stepping inside the cabin to set the packs of water down.

Steve sighs, then turns back to face Bucky.

“What’s your plan?”

Bucky blinks. His eyes wander to Darcy, uncertain. Her answering smile, soft and encouraging, loosens the tension in his body and he answers, “We found our way here. We’re going to lay low—Darcy will man communications if you need to get in touch with us.”

“I’ve got a few things up my sleeve,” Darcy adds, folding her arms across her chest. “And more than a few ideas regarding media and turning public opinion in Bucky’s favor. I can’t really do that by leaving.”

“And Siberia?” Steve glances between them. “Nelson said you need proof that you weren’t in control, and the trigger file is in an old Hydra warehouse like you said. You’re gonna have to leave the country at some point, Buck.”

“I know. When the time is right, I’ll go on my own. Now? Time ain’t right.”

Steve says nothing for several moments. Clint shifts anxiously behind them, still standing at the foot of the door. “You need a cover.”

“What?”

“Cover. Your trail.” Steve nods to himself, slowly making his way back to the front door and to the car’s trunk. Bucky follows him out, frowning. As Steve pulls out a bag from the trunk he pauses, then looks up at Bucky. “I’ll plant your cover, lead Hydra away from here. It’ll take a few months, giving you enough time to work a way out. Then double back to meet you in Siberia and get us the hell out with that file.”

Bucky shakes his head fiercely. “I can’t ask you to do that, Steve.”

“Good thing no one’s asking me. I’m _volunteering_.” Steve’s small, knowing smile is enough to make Bucky smile back a little, even if it was exasperated.

From the porch steps, Darcy smiles fondly before turning to Clint. He looks at her, bewildered, when she shoves a letter in his hand.

“Make sure that gets to Jane.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm back, and with a 7k update!
> 
> This chapter could not have been possible without the amazing leftennant and beautiful dresupi, who are incredible and sounded off ideas with me when I was sure there was no way I could write another chapter without mucking it all up. I love you both so, so much <3
> 
> This chapter is NSFW, and this will be the last time I put this warning up. Assume any future chapter to have a possibility of NSFW :)

**-:-**

**"Things are about to get bright."**

\--Tony Stark,  _Earth-616_

**-:-**

** Chapter 15 **

Foggy is having a long day.

Sweating, there is so much sweating. Summer in Hell’s Kitchen has always been—well, _hellish_ , but it never accounted for Foggy being at crossroads with the federal government, going toe-to-toe against half of the Avengers, and having a war hero and formerly brainwashed assassin as a client, presented by Captain America himself.

It has been a long damn _week_.

 “You can do this. Don’t do this. You can do this. Don’t do this.” Foggy stares at the notes scattered across his desk with rising trepidation, but quickly shakes out his arms and rolls back his shoulders. “Be cool, be cool, be cool. Come on, Nelson.” Foggy’s gaze lands on the laptop screen again. He winces. “Damn it.”

Foggy glances around the room, at the surveillance feed monitoring his every movement. Dozens are stationed around the whole firm. It’s a sweet ass firm, of course there’s surveillance everywhere. “Damn it,” Foggy mutters as he shoves his notes into a briefcase and jams the laptop into its travel bag.

He curses again as he steps out of the law firm and into the waning daylight. Mentally berates himself for doing this at all. God, he is so fucked.

No, no point thinking about that. _One foot in front of the other, Nelson. Good, just like that._ Foggy grips his briefcase more tightly and clutches the laptop bag closer to himself when a group of business men pass opposite of him.

The route is automatic, instinctual. Foggy blinks in surprise when he arrives at the front steps, so absorbed in his own collapsing resolve that he nearly passes the building. The inside is the same—crumbling wallpaper, indistinct shouting from the neighboring apartments. Finally he stops before a familiar door, crammed at the end of the hallway.

Glancing heavenwards, Foggy takes a breath and knocks on the door.

He waits, holding his breath. Clearing his throat, Foggy says, “Hey, Matt. It’s uh—it’s Foggy.”

He hears movement from inside, the clatter of a book and a hard thump along the floor. Foggy isn’t prepared for the way the door is thrown open and instinctively jerks back.

Matt is staring at him with wide eyes. Foggy can’t stop the precursory look—no bruises on his face, a clean shirt on his back. That’s good. He’s taking care of himself. Not getting beat up behind alleys every night wearing a bulletproof suit. The dark shadows mirroring beneath his eyelids worry Foggy, though.

Matt exhales slowly, swallowing. “Hey.”

Foggy presses his lips together, smiling a little. “Hey. Can I come in?”

Matt steps back immediately, and Foggy walks inside. “See you’ve livened the place up a bit,” Foggy notes, taking in the apartment. “New couch?”

Matt rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, uh, the old couch got a bit…”

“Bloody?”

“Yeah.” Matt’s not looking at him directly, staring somewhere off Foggy’s shoulder. Force of habit, Foggy thinks. “Hey, you want a drink or something?”

“No—ah, no. I need to be sober for this.” Foggy takes a deep breath, steadying himself. The briefcase and laptop bag feel suddenly heavy in his hands and Foggy quickly drops them onto one side of the couch. God, now he feels suffocated by his tie, and he starts yanking it loose. “Real hot out today, right? I’ve gone through three shirts already.”

Matt stares. “Foggy, is everything okay?”

Foggy can’t help it; he shakes his head. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Matt narrows his eyes, still not looking at him. Foggy forgets again that Matt can tell when he’s lying, capable of hearing the slightest stutter in his heartbeat.

If Matt notices the lie, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he says, “It’s just,” Matt takes a slow step closer, “you haven’t…visited me in a few months now. I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Yeah. Yeah I know, sorry about that,” Foggy rubs his jaw tiredly. “Is this weird? It’s weird. I should go. I’ll go.”

“Foggy.” Matt says his name again and Foggy holds back a sigh, knowing that tone of voice. He heard it all through law school and through the last two years. Somehow it doesn’t irritate him as much as it should.

“Matt…can we like, for an hour forget all the crap of the past year and the fact that we don’t work together anymore? Because I’m gonna be honest, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing and I really, really my friend right now.”

Matt’s eyes go wide with alarm and he nods quickly. “Yeah, man—of course. C’mon, let’s sit.”

By the time they’re settled Foggy’s finally yanked the tie completely off and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his suit, sagging against the cushions. He can feel Matt watching him—sensing him? He doesn’t know what to call it anymore.

Foggy clears his throat. “Soo, have you by any chance been keeping up with the news lately?”

Matt’s lips twitch. “Well. If you’re talking about the fact that _Hogarth, Chao, and Benowitz_ has incited The Sokovia Accords as not legally binding…”

“There’s that,” Foggy nods.

“And Steve Rogers making a public service announcement about the manhunt on James Barnes with said firm financially backing it…”

“Yeah, about that…”

“Then yeah, I’ve been keeping up with the news.”

Foggy sighs. “Dude. I’m way in over my head. I’m fucking terrified.”

Matt draws back. “Really?”

“Is that so surprising?”

Matt frowns. “After everything else we’ve seen, after the people we put away, why does this case scare you?”

Foggy says nothing, fiddling with the strap to his laptop bag. Matt regards him carefully. “Is someone threatening you?”

Foggy snorts. “We’re lawyers, Matt, someone’s always threatening us. No, that’s not what I’m…” Foggy looks at Matt helplessly. “You know in _The Lord of the Rings_ when the dwarves mined in Moria too deeply and found a Balrog, and it was like ‘holy shit, we just found a Balrog and we’re all dead’? Because you went deeper than you were supposed to and this is something that is decades’ worth of cover-ups and you knew it was gonna be bad when you started digging, but not this bad?”

“You found a Balrog,” Matt says slowly.

“I found a Balrog.”

Matt glances down at Foggy’s briefcase. “You’re the one who took the Bucky Barnes case, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. It sort of fell on me. Actually, they were looking for us. _Nelson and Murdock_.” Foggy chuckles humorlessly. “That would’ve been something.”

Matt stares at him, and Foggy realizes he’s looking at Foggy directly now. “What did you find, Foggy?”

Foggy flips open his briefcase and pulls out a thick file. “I’ve been cross-referencing the public archives and the information leak from the Hydra-Shield database a few years back,” he rifles through the pages and holds them out for Matt. “You know, create a timeline of Barnes’s life from the war to present day…it’s…a lot. Just this in itself is enough to present a strong case.”

Matt seems taken aback that the documents still have braille, and glances up at Foggy in surprise. Foggy shrugs. “Couldn’t kick the habit. I’m so used to having a braille copy.”

Matt swallows thickly and focuses back on the documents. “This is good stuff, Foggy. Seriously, this—this is really good.”

Foggy nods, wringing his hands. “For sure, it’s kickass. But you know once you start uncovering this stuff, you have to keep going.” Matt nods in understanding, frowning at a page that shows Barnes strapped to a gurney. Matt moves it this way and that, and Foggy frowns as he holds it up at odd angles. “And so, I did. This…Matt, this goes way deeper than I thought. I don’t know. I don’t know if I can do this on my own, if I should pursue this at all.”

“What, though?” Matt asks. “What about this case could be worse than it already is?”

“Dude,” Foggy lowers his voice and glances around, as if expecting someone to be listening in to them. “When they said Hydra was everywhere, they meant _everywhere_. Factions of the U.S. military were directly responsible for what happened to Barnes when he was presumed dead, way back in the forties. This is a whole new can of worms than just proving Barnes’s innocence. This is outing the corruption of the system that we’ve been led to believe reliable for over seventy years.”

“How is that any different than what it already is?” Matt raises a challenging brow. “We already knew Hydra plants were infiltrated in the U.S. government when the leaks happened and hundreds of officials got arrested.”

“Yes but—” Foggy makes a frustrated noise. “This is so much worse, man! I’m gonna be suing the government, is what it’s building up to. I’m at a point I don’t know who to trust anymore! Anyone could be in on it, any second someone could walk up and,” Foggy makes a slicing motion to his neck.

“That’s not going to happen,” Matt says quietly.

Foggy rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know. Daredevil’s gonna watch my back.”

“He is. I am.” Matt looks back down at the file in his lap. “I’m always going to be here for you, Foggy. Law partners or not.”

Something warm blooms in Foggy’s chest. He opens his mouth to speak but pauses when he sees Matt fixated on a set of photographs. “What? What is it?” Matt shakes his head. Foggy smirks. “What, can you suddenly see photographs now?”

At Matt’s wary look, Foggy’s jaw drops. “You’re shitting me. Really?”

Matt shrugs unsurely. “Sort of? I’ve been, um…trying different techniques to get a read on paper. Words not so much, but photos…” Matt wiggles the photograph and tilts it this way and that. “I’ve seen this man before.”

Foggy leans closer to see the picture. “Oh yeah, that’s General Ross. Guy that approved the Sokovia Accords. We’re having that under intense investigation as well—dude totally screwed the Avengers over with false documentation.”

“No, that’s not where I’ve seen him.” Matt purses his lips, brows knit together in deep concentration. All of a sudden his face clears, and he looks back up at Foggy with certainty. “I’ve seen this guy at the docks, near shipment freighters.”

Foggy frowns. “That’s…weird? Do you know why he was there?”

Matt starts shaking his head slowly. “No, I—it was at night, I was wearing the suit and mask…” Matt sifts through more photos, pausing on a set of three. “These, who are these guys?”

Foggy takes the photos. “These are a few Hydra agents that were captured by Tony Stark’s dispatch team two weeks ago, near the Avengers Tower.”

Matt shakes his head quickly. “I saw these men too. At the docks, with Ross.”

Foggy frowns. “That’s impossible. Why would…” Foggy trails off before diving into his laptop bag and pulling open the screen. “I wondered…holy shit. _Holy_ shit. Matt,” Foggy pulled open a spreadsheet. “I have a fuck ton of data I didn’t think I’d use, most of it is irrelevant, but listen. Ross has been flying out like clockwork, _heavily_ in the last year. But cross-referencing the cities with the Hydra leak…”

Foggy clicks a key, watching the data match up. “They’re all well-known Hydra bases. Or, well, used to be Hydra bases. The Avengers made sure those bases bit the dust.” Foggy shakes his head, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Oh god.”

“Fog. I think there’s a very high chance the Secretary of State has been working with Hydra. Those men in those photographs aren’t just Hydra men, they’re _Ross’s_ men.”

“Oh god.”

“He definitely has an agenda with the Accords and with capturing Barnes.”

“Oh god.”

“Wasn’t Ross involved in the…what was it? The Culver incident? What exactly was his job before?”

Foggy quickly scrambles through the papers in his briefcase, eyes darting over a document. “He was in charge of a military project…the ‘Bio-Tech Force Enhancement Project’. AKA Create The Super Soldier Serum 2.0. AKA, _fuck_.” Foggy digs into his pocket and whips out his phone.

Matt frowns. “Who’re you calling?”

Foggy glances at Matt. “There’s a captain that will want to hear about this. And Matt?” Matt gives Foggy a questioning look. “Welcome back.”

Matt looks away, hiding a smile.

**-:-**

When Tony wakes, it is to the smell of coffee and fuel, with the tinny sound of the television clicking on in the background.

“ _Good morning, Mr. Stark_ ,” Friday greets him as if already weary with him. He doesn’t actively recall programming this much long-suffering into his A.I.s, but Jarvis had it and so does Friday and maybe it’s harmonious that way.

Tony groans into his pillow, his face buried into the soft silk, before rolling onto his back. “I thought we went over this, Friday. No waking the boss before nine.”

“ _It is twelve-thirty in the afternoon, and I have program override to alert you on any developments on Barnes_ ,” Friday answers shortly.

Tony peels an eye open. “I’m listening.”

The volume on the flat screen increases, and Tony sits up slowly. His eyes dart along the subtitles scrolling down the screen as he catches snatches of “protests”, “investigation of the validity of the Accords”, and “manhunt for James Buchanan Barnes continues despite public outcry”. Tony shakes his head. Seeing Steve’s viral video stint had…cut, that much Tony will admit. Tracing it all back to Pepper stung more than Tony ever thought he could still feel.

Tony frowns, padding over to the coffee machine and pouring himself a mug. “No offense, Friday, but none of this is exactly breaking news to me,” Tony mutters over the rim of his mug.

“ _Perhaps this will, then. Priority upload from Berlin Police._ ”

The phone sitting on Tony’s nightstand beeps twice, and Tony pads over and picks it up. His eyes narrow. “What is this I’m seeing?”

“ _Sergeant Theo Broussard. He was part of the Sokovian kill squad EKO Scorpion_.”

“And?”

“ _He was found dead in a Berlin Hotel room. Where police also found a wig and facial prosthesis…approximating the appearance of one James Buchanan Barnes. He had the correct build and shape to adequately impersonate Barnes.”_

Tony frowns. “So he, what? Frames Barnes then kills himself?”

“ _The hotel room was booked under a false identity, Galen Zen. Security feed and facial recognition approximates this match_ ,” Tony sees a second face pop up on the screen, a handsome man staring blankly at him. “ _Colonel Helmut Zemo, Sokovian Intelligence. Zemo ran EKO Scorpion.”_

“Son of a bitch. Fire up the chopper, and send this to Ross. Wait—cancel that. I’ll tell him myself,” Tony dresses quickly but the feeling of dread does not fade. He doesn’t know why two former Sokovian intelligence members would frame Barnes by killing the Wakandan king, but he damn well is going to find out.

General Ross is in deep conversation with a group of gentlemen when Tony strides into his office. At the sight of Tony, Ross nods politely at the group and breaks away.

“Just the man I wanted to see,” Ross claps Tony on the back, smiling.

“Sir,” Tony offers a humorless smile. “There’s something I wanted to…” he trails when a man saunters forward, and Ross follows Tony’s line of sight before smiling widely.

“Tony, I’d like you to meet a fellow army man and our new consultant on the Accords case, Colonel Helmut Zemo. He’ll be handling any further developments with the Avengers and this manhunt on Barnes.”

Zemo smiles thinly at Tony and holds his hand out. “It is an honor to meet you, Mr. Stark.”

The synapses in Tony’s mind respond in its most reactionary, its most volcanically fundamental, hundreds of pieces of fragmented thoughts and ideas and questions colliding together into the scene displayed before him.

And just as quickly the noise in Tony’s mind goes silent. With a slow, charming smile, Tony takes Zemo’s hand and shakes it eagerly.

“The pleasure is all mine, Colonel.”

**-:-**

The number on Steve’s cell is restricted. He glances up—Sam is snoring, Scott is attempting to teach Wanda how to play poker. Steve slides off the chair in the small living room and wanders into the next bedroom.

“Hello?” Steve says warily.

“Cap. I need you to crawl out of whatever hole you’re hiding in, go to twenty-seven and seventh, climb the roof of the sea green building, and bring two icepacks with you.”

Steve startles immediately and wildly looks around the room, checking for wires or bugs. He hears Tony sigh in exasperation on the line. “I need you to do this, No Questions Asked.”

Steve freezes. “No questions asked.”

“Yep.”

“…As in, No Questions Asked.”

“Yeah. As in you owe me, Rogers. So there’s your proof that I’m not setting you up. Nothing’s going to happen to you or anyone else. Just—just do it, okay? Two ice packs.”

Steve breathes in shakily, the grip on his phone tightening to the point he hears something crack just the tiniest bit.

“I need to hear you say you’ll do it, Steve—”

“Twenty-seven and seventh. I’ll be there in three hours.”

He can practically hear the relief in Tony’s voice. “Three hours is perfect. Two icepacks!”

The line goes dead. Steve drops his head in his hand before heading to the freezer.

**-:-**

He’s already there, waiting in a bluish-gray suit and sunglasses. Steve suited up in his Cap uniform, half-expecting to see Iron Man and his small army behind him. This, evidently, is not the case.

“I see you brought the icepack. Do I spot two?” Tony lowers the sunglasses down his nose for a better look. Steve holds out his hand, separating the icepacks slightly in his grip so they’re visibly two.

“Just as you asked.” Steve stops before Tony, holding out the icepacks. Tony smiles as he takes them. Steve clenches his jaw. “Is that all?”

“No. Not nearly. I, uh,” Tony sheepishly scratches at his jaw, his other hand fidgeting at his side before pulling out his phone. “I might have found out some things. A lot of things. You hear about Berlin?”

Steve raises a brow. Tony clears his throat.

“Funny story, terrible story, but. Well.” Tony thrusts the phone at him and exhales loudly when Steve starts scrolling down the screen. Steve purposely takes his time, carefully reading every line and memorizing every photo. He can see it driving Tony up a wall but Tony doesn’t say a word, doesn’t so much as huff in frustration. He’s watching Steve with anxious anticipation in a bouncing, ineffable way that comes off as both excited and dreadful. 

A tiny smile starts curling at the corner of Steve’s mouth by the time he’s finished reading. Silently Steve hands back Tony the phone. “Interesting.”

Tony balks. “That’s it?”

Steve shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s definitely interesting.” Tony’s surprise is now wary, and Steve finally lets up. “See, it’s funny you tell me this, today of all days. This morning I had the most enlightening phone call from a source that showed me all sorts of things too.” Steve pulls out his own phone and hands it to Tony, who grows pale when he sifts through the encrypted email Foggy had sent Steve earlier that day.

“Ah,” Tony says finally. “That’s…interesting.”

Steve smiles. Tony clears his throat again. “So, it looks like I was wrong. What? I can admit it. Sometimes my ego isn’t that inflated. I was wrong, you were right. The Accords was a setup. Barnes was framed. From your info, looks like Ross has been working with Hydra for a while, and partnered with this Zemo asshole to capture Barnes and split up the Avengers. I was wrong, okay? You were right. Steve Rogers was right.”

Steve splits into a wide grin. “Yeah I really was, wasn’t I?”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Let’s get this over with, shall we? The icepacks are starting to melt.” Tony braces himself, widening his stance, before quickly whipping off his sunglasses and shoving it in his pocket.

Steve hesitates. “I don’t know, Stark. I’m not sure how good I feel about slapping someone when it’s not a real fight.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Don’t get all justice on me now. It’s a Slap Bet, fair and square. We watched the show together. We made a bet, loser gets slapped as hard as possible by the winner without any hard feelings. I was wrong about the Accords, and I was wrong about Ross and Barnes. That’s two. Now go on,” Tony gestures to his face, gripping the icepacks tightly.

“But…this feels wrong…”

“Damn it, Steve, don’t be a—”

The words end on a wheeze as Steve clips him hard on one cheek then the other, sending Tony careening backwards on the rooftop. Water springs in his eyes and Tony has to fight to keep them from slipping down.

“You okay there, bud?” Steve asks him, the smile clear in his voice.

Tony grunts and presses the icepacks to his face. “Don’t patronize me. Okay, step two. Ross has no idea I know he’s in on it. We need a new game plan, ASAP.”

Steve nods, easily slipping back into serious mode. “We do, so you better come with me back to base.”

Tony nods, huffing when Steve thumps Tony affectionately on the back before slinging an arm around his shoulders. “God, I’ve always wanted to be a double agent. That’s what we’re doing right? Right? Please tell me this is ending with me double-agenting the shit out of General Dickhead and sending him to forever jail.”

Steve grins. “Basically.”

**-:-**

The passenger door to the hotwired Toyota Corolla suddenly jerks open, and Bucky barely refrains from a flinch as Darcy hastily climbs into the seat. “Got everything!” Darcy beams, shaking four small plastic bags with giddy excitement. “I’m getting good at this, am I right?”

“You’re ten minutes late,” Bucky mutters darkly, throwing down the parking brake and shifting the gear to drive. “You should have let me do the run.”

“I know, I’m sorry, there was a long line at the register,” Darcy answers, dropping the bags into the backseat before clipping on the seatbelt. “Besides, we talked about this already. It’s too risky sending you out in public places right now. Just doing this,” Darcy gestures at the car and the highway they were merging onto, “is giving me palpitations.”

“This is nothing. I was in hiding for years, remember?”

“I remember,” Darcy peers up at Bucky, leaning close to tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “I’ll be more careful next time, okay?”

Bucky looks away from the road for a second to glance at her. The sincerity in her eyes melts the tension in his body, and he smiles at Darcy. “Okay.”

If Bucky’s honest with himself, the last four days of being on the run again, just the two of them, have proven vastly different than what they experienced escaping England. The sense of control Bucky so eagerly coveted, was practically dependent on in the two years he’d freed himself from Hydra, was slowly but surely slipping from his fingers in this new terrain they were exploring together.

The routine was still the same as he remembers—scope out a hideout, search the perimeter, gather supplies, and rest for the night. Bucky had to hotwire a car in the end; public transportation in the tristate area wasn’t as easily accessible as it had been in Europe, nor how he grew up with in New York. But then practicalities came into play—Darcy needed a set of jailbroken equipment (that particular run had ended with a mad dash to the car and driving onto the freeway until they got to their safehouse, and putting their leftover adrenaline to use with vigorous kissing on the couch).

After the equipment was the supplies, and while none of these things that he and Darcy were doing were all that different than what they’d done before, something this time had shifted. It became less of Bucky helping along and more of Bucky staying back, hiding in the car until Darcy returned, and watching Darcy tinker with the equipment until it clicked to life.

It is the first time where Bucky is the one who needs to be protected, and the feeling is…foreign.

Their base is a small motel off of I-95, set with a heavily cracked parking lot and peeling floral wallpaper. Bucky helps bring the bags inside their room, setting them down on the tiny table across from the double beds. Darcy kicks off her shoes and settles cross-legged on the bed they’ve been sharing the past few days.

He watches her fish out the burner phone from the side of the mattress and check the time. “Just made it,” Darcy says, already dialing. Bucky sheds the hat, the gloves, and the gray hoodie on the other bed methodically, carefully placing the hat atop the folded clothes.

“Hey, just calling to check in. We’re alright. We’re—whoa, whoa, slow down,” Darcy straightens against the bedframe and Bucky looks up sharply. He tilts his head questioningly at her, and Darcy shrugs helplessly. “Hold on, hold on— _wait!_ Let me put you on speaker.” Darcy presses a button and scoots over for Bucky when he comes to sit next to her. “Okay, go. We have like forty seconds left.”

Bucky startles when he hears a voice that isn’t Steve’s at all. “Alright, the good captain has filled me in on the details with you and Barnes. There’s been a change of plans—”

“What did you do with Steve?” Bucky snarls into the phone. Darcy casts a glance at him and squeezes his hand reassuringly.

“Nothing, Bucky,” Steve cuts in on the phone, “I’m right here. Listen. Tony’s on our side now.”

“ _What!_ ” Darcy exclaims, looking from the phone to Bucky in shock. “I’m sorry— _what?_ Was that Tony Stark who was just on the line? What the hell, man?”

“Smart, this one,” the second voice, now identified as Tony Stark, says dryly. “We’ll pass pleasantries later. Right now I need a place to send an infodump updating you two on the game plan and on what we found out. We’ll check back in tomorrow, same time, and see where you’re at.”

Bucky can see the hundred questions flitting across Darcy’s eyes, the way her brows knit together and she’s shaking her head in disbelief. He thinks she’s going to put up a fith, to protest, but instead she checks the time on the watch and says, “Right. Okay. Here’s the email address…”

Bucky waits until the minute is up and Darcy powers down the cell phone. For a minute she sits there, stunned, staring blankly at the phone in her hand. Darcy turns to him suddenly with an incredulous look. “Can you believe this? What the hell?”

“We should go.”

Darcy blinks. “What?”

“Mission’s compromised. We should go.”

“What—no. Nothing’s compromised. Bucky,” Darcy grabs his arm when he makes to stand up, and pulls him back down next to her. “Dude, slow down.”

“Steve suddenly trusting Stark again doesn’t sit well, Darce. We should relocate just to be safe.”

“Bucky, it’s…” she shakes her head. “It’s late, and we have no destination. I’m not just picking up and leaving right now, not when Steve’s sending a buttload of information that I need to download! I need wifi, I need,” Darcy huffs and shakes her head again. She quickly pulls open the jailbroken laptop and clicks several times on the keys. “See, he already sent two files. We need to wait until we read what’s in here.”

Bucky glares at the screen when she starts up the first download. “This could be a _trap_ ,” Bucky hisses.

Darcy glares right back. “You _really_ think Steve would play along like he did if he was really trapped? That he would jeopardize your safety and go along with some ploy? Seriously? You have to know better than that.”

Ire flashes through Bucky. Of course he knows. He knows the punk would rather get himself killed than let any harm come to the people he loved, but rational thought isn’t Bucky’s strong point right now. “This is part of going dark, sweetheart. Getting up and going at a moment’s notice. Downloads can wait. If you weren’t ready for this you should never have pushed for coming with me.”

Darcy’s expression darkens, and he can practically feel her body go stiff. “I don’t know what’s up your ass right now, but I have done _nothing but_ keep up with you since day. Fucking. One. Don’t you dare try putting this on me.” Darcy slides off the bed and grabs a bag from the other double bed. “I’m taking a shower.”

When the door slams behind Darcy, Bucky sighs and collapses against the bed, pressing his palms against his eyelids.

**-:-**

Darcy had hoped that showering would simmer the anger boiling inside of her, but it does not. Far from it. She spends the full twenty minutes replaying the biting words Bucky had thrown at her and reimagining the things she could’ve said instead, just to feel a shred more vindictive satisfaction than she feels right now.

It’s pointless, of course, because she can’t go back and say something different and this only makes her more irritated. Darcy dries off quickly and changes into fresh clothes, then opens the door. Bucky’s moved from the bed to sit by the window, staring at his hands. He looks up at her the second she steps closer into the room.

“Shower’s free,” Darcy doesn’t meet his eyes, moving instead to the double beds and stuffing everything back inside her bags.

“What’re you doing?” Bucky asks her curiously.

Darcy pauses. “Um. Packing?”

Bucky closes his eyes and sighs, shaking his head. “No, Darce, stop. We’re not going anywhere.”

“You said we’re leaving.”

“I know, I—hey, no,” Bucky reaches over to stop Darcy from closing the laptop where the download was still running. “Let it download. We’ll stay. You were right, I was being a jackass to you for no good reason. I’m sorry, doll. You’re doing perfect—more than perfect. Forget everything I said.”

Darcy sighs, turning to look at him. “Bucky, look, if you really think we should leave, I trust you. You have more experience in this stuff, and I trust your judgment. You say we need to go, we’ll go.”

“No, we’re fine here. We’re still safe. We don’t need to leave.” Bucky stands up from the chair and walks around the bed until he’s standing in front of Darcy. “Me lashing out at you had nothing to do with your or this place’s safety, and entirely to do with my ego.”

Darcy frowns. “How?”

Bucky shrugs, running his fingertips along either side of Darcy’s arms. “’M just not…not used to this.”

Darcy smiles a little disbelievingly. “You’ve been doing this forever.”

“I have, but…it’s never been like this. Other people calling the shots. I fought to break off from the group, to go dark on our own, and it _still_ doesn’t change that I have no control over my life right now.”

Darcy lets his words sink in, and a spark of understanding runs through her. The agitation she felt coming off of him the past few days click together in her mind, on how ever since they came to the U.S. Bucky has been more on edge than he ever was on the cruise ship. For there he had been able to plan what to do, was on familiar ground with the ability to make choices with Darcy. But this—this was entirely different. His fate was held in the hands of others again. It makes sense, why something like that would bother him this deeply. Darcy wonders why she had never made the connection earlier.

“Bucky,” Darcy says softly, reaching up to gently cup Bucky’s jaw. He leans into the touch, staring back at her with an openness that was almost too much to bear. “Do you remember what I told you on the cruise ship, that first night?”

Bucky nods against her hand, smiling a little. “That we’re a team.”

Darcy smiles back, stroking her thumb against his cheek. “That hasn’t changed. The only thing that’s changed is our team got a few more people. A few more ideas. That’s all. And honestly? We can still choose what path we take next. You say we ditch this place and take the first ride out? We will freaking do that.”

Bucky grins and runs his hand through her damp hair, settling on the back of her neck. His grin turns curious when he sees Darcy bite back a smile. “What?”

Darcy shakes her head. “You’re a dork.”

“What?” Bucky repeats, his smile widening when Darcy grins.

“You’ve got that look on you again. For an ex-assassin you’re shockingly easy to read, face-wise.”

“Yeah?” Bucky ticks up a brow, interested where this was going. “What’s my face saying?”

Darcy tilts her head, her eyes flickering over his face. “That look that says you’re thanking your lucky stars for being here, right now.”

“With you,” Bucky finishes for her. “Read me like an open book. Lucky for you, I can read you too.”

“And what’s my face saying?” Darcy asks him, and for a second he’s caught in the endless depth of her blue irises.

Bucky leans closer. “I think it’ll be better if I just show you.”

He kisses her slow and deep, and Darcy thinks he’s read her perfectly.

**-:-**

“You had a point, you know.”

Bucky pauses the brush in her hair, wet strands clinging to his skin. “About what?”

Darcy shrugs, idly roaming the mouse on the laptop screen. The first download is fifty-five percent complete. Darcy dreads to think how long the second file will take, considering their less-than-par motel internet speed.

“About what it’s like to go dark, to be on the run. I—I really am not as cut out for this as I like to think I am. I’m still not used to any of this,” Darcy gestures vaguely around them.

For a second Bucky says nothing. But then she feels him shaking behind her, and Darcy whips around to see him biting his lip to and holding back a grin. Darcy glares, and Bucky holds up his hands. “I’m sorry. It’s just, I thought I just heard you complaining about not knowing how to be a fugitive on the run.” Darcy’s lips twitch, and Bucky shakes his head. “Last I heard, doll, that’s supposed to be a _good_ thing. Means you didn’t need to have this knowledge in the first place.”

Darcy grunts noncommittally, earning her another huff from behind. “I think, sweetheart, what you need is a distraction.” Bucky starts pulling her hair over one shoulder and Darcy twists her head to give him a questioning look.

“Oh really?”

“You’ve done nothing but stare at that screen for two hours, Darcy. Plus with getting the new equipment, grabbing supplies, doing the food runs while I sit pretty in the car…” Darcy snorts, and Bucky grins. “Makes a fella feel spoiled.”

“Someone’s gotta put bread on the table,” Darcy shrugs. She jerks a little in surprise when she feels Bucky’s hands on her shoulders, squeezing them gently.

“A shoulder rub?” Darcy says skeptically, but a soft moan escapes her when Bucky’s thumb presses into her shoulder blade and releases a knot of tension. “On second thought: _shoulder ruuuub._ ”

She leans into the sensation, relaxing more and more into Bucky’s firm but gentle ministrations. “You know, you’re pretty good at this.”

Bucky smiles. “Used to do this for my ma when she’d come home from a nightshift at her second job. Guess I haven’t forgotten how to do this either.”

“Hmm,” Darcy hums in agreement. She wants to articulate more on that, because Bucky remembering pieces of his past and having this kind of muscle memory is awesome, but his hands are working her muscles into putty and she’s falling lax against him, until her the back of her head is resting against his shoulder.

“Better?” he says quietly, his breath tickling her ear. Darcy nods, humming again.

“Better.” She runs her hand along Bucky’s thigh that’s bracketing around her. She means for it to be a gesture of appreciation, but when she feels Bucky’s stutter just the tiniest bit and the kneading of her shoulders slowing down, Darcy pauses. She curls her finger slightly so her nails gently scrape up his knee and along his thigh.

She’s almost disappointed when Bucky resumes working her shoulders, but the feeling comes to a screeching halt when she sees Bucky lean into her periphery and place a soft kiss on her shoulder.

Darcy drags her nails down Bucky’s knee again before gliding them back up, letting her hand smooth down and feel the warmth of him under her hand, hidden beneath the cotton sweatpants he was wearing. Bucky presses another kiss, this time against the soft skin of her neck where it meets her shoulder, and a little tremor runs through Darcy. Warmth stirs inside her when she feels his thumb brush against the strap of her night dress before sliding it off her shoulder, exposing a sliver more of her skin. Bucky kisses her there and Darcy’s breath quickens, reveling in the illicit feeling of the top of her night dress starting to sag down.

It’s too much when Darcy pushes back against him and raises her arm to grasp the back of his head, pulling Bucky closer to herself, and it’s definitely too much when the hands that had been on the bare skin of her shoulders now slip down to her waist, pulling her back flush against his chest. She twists her neck and crashes their lips together.

She doesn’t know if the laptop slips to the floor or if Bucky has the foresight to quickly set it safely away from their tumbling bodies, but one way or another the laptop is _gone_ and Darcy’s night dress is _off_ in record time. She sees it clutched in Bucky’s left arm and—wait, is it torn in half?

“Did you just tear that in half?” Darcy asks.

Bucky stares at the tattered remains of Darcy’s two dollar Walmart slip, and looks back to Darcy. “Uh. Yeah. Oops?”

Darcy can’t help it; she starts laughing. “God you are so hot right now,” she says breathlessly before dragging his head back down to hers.

The buzz of electricity and weeks of restraint, days of just missing this moment, always occupied with something else, hours of something interrupting the possibility of this moment—they all finally come crashing down around them. And this time Darcy knows. She _knows_.

Bucky lays them down, hovering above Darcy. Suddenly the urgency seems to fade from their movements, and Bucky pauses to brush a lock of hair away from her face, eyes flickering over her tenderly. Darcy starts smiling and Bucky smiles right back, laughing a little together before Bucky leans down and kisses her deeply, lips gliding against hers in a soft push and pull, the brush of their tongues sending sparks of heat down Darcy’s body.

She snaps off her bra and Bucky tosses it onto the other bed, adding his own shirt and sweatpants to the humble pile. Darcy’s eyes rake down his chest and sighs wistfully. “We really should play strip poker some time.”

“Strip poker, huh? That go how I think it goes?” Bucky’s voice is light and teasing and Darcy would’ve responded in kind if his mouth wasn’t doing sinful, swirly things to her breast.

“Dep…depends on what you’re thinking,” Darcy’s breath catches when his teeth graze against her nipple, and arches her back on a soft moan when he tugs gently on the small pink bud before rolling it with his tongue. He trails down to press soft kisses down her stomach, nipping at her hip bone before tugging her panties down.

When he starts to slide down Darcy clamps her knees shut. “Uh-uh. None of that right now. Get back up here.”

Bucky looks startled, but immediately leans back. “Darce, I want to.”

“I know baby and you’re a complete gentlemen and I’d like that maybe later in the night but right now? I just really, really want you. No interruptions. Plus,” Darcy reaches for his hand and presses it against her folds. “I think we’re good for now.”

A ghost of a smile graces his lips and Bucky drops a kiss to Darcy’s thigh before climbing back up. Darcy may have whimpered a bit when he sucked the fingers that had brushed against the slickness of her folds, letting them out of his mouth with a wet _pop_.

In a frenetic of movement Bucky’s sheds the last of his clothes and Darcy hikes her legs over Bucky’s hips, reveling in the sensation of his body pressed against hers, skin warm and soft and the touch of his cybernetic fingers just as warm and gentle. He peers down at her, expression unreadable as Darcy strokes back some of his hair from his eyes, kissing him softly on the mouth.

Bucky responds eagerly, drawing back only to slant his lips back over hers. His hips shift against the cradle of hers and slowly, he pushes inside.

They sigh in unison once Bucky is fully seated inside, and Darcy shifts her hips a little as she adjusts to him. “Okay?” he asks. Darcy smiles.

“The best. Come here.”

Bucky closes the distance between them and Darcy wraps her arms around his neck. Their kiss goes from gentle to heated in a matter of seconds and Darcy arches against him, gasping when it creates a delicious friction where they’re joined. They buck into each other at once, hips rolling into hers and her nails dragging down his back.

“Fuck,” Darcy gasps, lifting her hips to meet his and shuddering at the tantalizing brush against her clit. “Bucky… _fuck_ —”

“Right here, Darcy. Fuck.” Bucky hikes her leg up and presses her knee back towards her chest and Darcy shudders, feeling the telltale build deep inside her body. “I can feel that. Jesus, you’re beautiful.” Bucky grinds his hips harder into hers and suddenly Darcy vision goes blank, pleasure rippling through her as convulses around him.

He’s still thrusting slowly as she comes down, kissing her neck as she shivers. Darcy runs her fingers through Bucky’s hair and he pulls back, a slow smile mirroring her own.

“That was fun,” Darcy says with a dazed smile, then pushes him to roll on top of him. Bucky’s surprise is quickly drowned in a loud groan as Darcy sinks down on him. His hands fall to her hips as she grinds on top of him, their hips moving tantalizingly together until Bucky’s grip on her skin tightens, fucking into her with shaky, stuttering breaths. They gasp together when he pushes into her a final time, coming hard inside her.

Breathless, Darcy drapes herself over Bucky’s chest. She wants to savor this, memorize every iota of this moment and the way Bucky’s skin is warm and damp against hers, the way his chest is still trying to catch breath, the way it feels when he softens inside her and his arms come up to envelop her tightly, as if never wanting to let go; the way he murmurs something so soft in her ear Darcy doesn’t quite catch it, but it leaves a warm feeling in her chest anyway.

And she does savor this, for the most part, until her eyes drift closed and she finally succumbs to exhausted sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens...! And smut. FINALLY.
> 
> Honestly I would pay cash money for Civil War to have gone something like this, with Tony getting his head out of his ass a lot sooner. But alas, we all must accept we'll be writing fix-it fic for the rest of our lives when it comes to the MCU.
> 
> I've also been marathoning How I Met Your Mother lately so if you caught references to "No Questions Asked" and "Slap Bet", that's where it's from! I nearly made the start quote of this chapter a Barney Stinson quote but I figured that's one ref too far. And yes, in this universe, Tony sat down with Steve and made him watch this (debatably garbage) show together. It totally happened.
> 
> All mistakes are my own and will be fixed ASAP.
> 
>  
> 
> **Let me know what you thought! Until chapter 16 xxx**


	16. Chapter 16

**-:-**

**Feels like I'm standing in a timeless dream**  
**Of light mist, of pale amber rose**  
**Feels like I'm lost in a deep cloud of heavenly scent**  
**Touching, discovering you.**  
**…Secret moments shut in the heat of the afternoon**  
**Out of the stillness, soft spoken words.**

\--I Love You, Always Forever, _Donna Lewis_ ****

**-:-**

** Chapter 16 **

Bucky is awake before her.

She feels it in the soft way his lips press against her shoulder. His fingers lightly brush against the skin of her stomach, tracing idle circles around her belly button. It rouses her enough to breathe in deeply, and Bucky’s arm tightens around her.

“Morning,” Darcy mumbles, her voice soft with sleep. “ _Is_ it morning?”

“Depends on what kind of morning you’re looking for,” Bucky replies. “Night-morning or dawn-morning?”

“I prefer no morning, to be honest.”

“Can’t help you there, doll.”

Darcy twists around to face him, limbs adjusting until Bucky’s wrapped his arm around her bare back and stroking softly. “I’m thinking it’s night-morning. Tell me I’m right.”

Bucky’s lips twitch. “You’re right. Two a.m.”

“Knew it,” Darcy says triumphantly, and a glint settles in her eye. “We did some pretty filthy things a few hours ago."

“Really?” Bucky’s lips twist into a smirk. He rolls on top of her, pressing their foreheads together gently. “You think _that_ was filthy?”

Darcy’s heartbeat speeds up, staring back at up at Bucky as she bites her lip. His eyes flicker down to her mouth. Whatever half-formed response Darcy was formulating fades away when Bucky’s mouth descends on hers.

If there was a time Bucky had ever been unsure of himself around Darcy, in the way he’d touch her or hold her, it was long gone and never to return. He moves with a surety and boldness that has Darcy breathless, leaning in for more and shifting restlessly beneath him. She feels Bucky smile against her lips and nudge her legs apart with his knees.

“Is this where you show me what filthy really is?” Darcy asks, her breath catching when Bucky licks his fingertips and rubs them along her slit.

“This? Nah,” Bucky smiles down at her softly. “Saving that for later. Right now I’m gonna make love to my girl.”

They sigh together when he sinks into her. Darcy brushes back his hair, pulling Bucky down for a kiss as he moves slowly inside her. They move together on the bed, shifting their limbs and arching into each other as Bucky grinds his hips into hers. In no time Darcy’s breath turns into gasps, wrapping her legs around Bucky’s waist and urging him closer, harder. But Bucky resists, keeping his pace just so to keep her on the edge but not any further.

Darcy makes a low moan of frustration. “ _Bucky_ ,” Darcy lifts her hips helplessly against him. “I need you…need you to…”

Bucky gives a single hard thrust and Darcy gasps, nails biting into his shoulder. “That? You need that?”

“Yes,” Darcy tries to arch her hips into his again but Bucky pushes her back down.

“Darce, if we want to do filthy things later we gotta keep this slow. I don’t want you hurting.”

“I won’t, just—just…god _damn_ _it_ , Bucky—”

Her words are cut off by a gasp when Bucky covers her mouth with his, sliding his tongue against hers and rolling his hips a little harder, the small change enough to have Darcy writhing against him. Bucky groans and buries his head against her shoulder, anchoring himself as they come together.

When Bucky finally lifts his head several breathless moments later, Darcy looks up at him and says, “You’re a goddamn tease, Barnes.”

Bucky’s lips quirk up, but his reply falters when her stomach makes its presence known between them. “And you need to eat, Lewis.”

**-:-**

A plate of food sits between them, balanced on Darcy’s knees with her legs stretched over Bucky’s lap.

“Stop stealing all the carrots,” Darcy complains as Bucky spears another carrot piece on his fork.

“Says the one who stole my shirt,” Bucky retorts, and Darcy takes in his state of undress, briefs and all.

“Well _somebody_ tore my nightgown in half last night,” Darcy points out. “And don’t even. You love me in your shirt. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you staring at my chest.”

“Doll, that’s nothing new.”

Darcy snorts into her next forkful of food. “Believe me, I know.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. Darcy shrugs. “I noticed you checking me out that first day in the tea shop. It’s okay, they’re irresistible.”

Bucky leans back, settling against the sofa cushion with a stare that looks like trouble. “Now I know my memory’s a bit shit, but I remember a certain brunette sizing up parts of me when I sat down in that shop, too.”

Darcy bites down a smile. “Which parts?”

Bucky sighs dramatically. “See, there it goes again. Memory’s fogged. You might have to help jog my memory.”

“Oh? And how would I do that?”

“Well, we could start with,” Bucky slides the plate from her lap and onto the table, pulling Darcy to straddle him, “Kissing right here.” He taps his left cheek.

“And that’s going to help you remember?”

“Touch-memory, Darcy. If you touch me I’ll remember which parts you looked at. This is a good place as any to start. Trust me, this is for science as much as it is for memory.”

“Well if it’s for science,” Darcy says seriously, and Bucky’s fighting a grin. She leans down to place a smacking kiss on his cheek, feeling Bucky smile against her mouth. “Anything?”

“Hmm, close. I’m remembering something a little further down.”

Darcy brushes her lips along his jaw, stopping at his mouth to give him slow, sensual kiss.

They pause when a small beep sounds behind her. Darcy glances at the computer sitting on the small table in front of the couch and glares. “Can you believe that’s still downloading? Just what stuff did Tony send in these infodumps?”

“Probably more data used on making those files secure than the actual information,” Bucky says, frowning at the download screen. His arms tighten around her when she starts shifting away, pulling her flush against him and dragging her mouth back to his. Darcy moans as Bucky’s mouth explores hers, hands sliding down her waist to squeeze her ass.

“Mmm…maybe we should…start trying to open the first file that’s…already downloaded,” Darcy says in between kisses, losing more and more of her resolve as Bucky works his way down her throat. “Yes? No?”

“Darcy.” Bucky pulls away from her neck and pins her with a firm gaze. “We have been shot at. Crossed the ocean on a boat. Got shot at some more. And have been on the run for the better part of two and a half months. Now Steve and Stark’s kid sent us more shit we will have to deal with tomorrow, starting with whatever is in those files.” Bucky brushes Darcy’s hair behind her ear, tilting his head. “So do you want to spend your last free hours working before more unforeseeable gunfire and Avengers bullshit knocks on our door tomorrow, or do you want to spend it on every flat surface in this safehouse with me?”

Darcy blinks several times before responding. “God. Is this literally it? The only day we’ll have for ourselves?”

Bucky nods, sighing quietly as he watches her mull it over in her head. Darcy nods back. “Yeah, I go with option two. Get over here.”

**-:-**

Option two ended up fruitful. _Very_ fruitful.

Bucky’s promise of filthy being the most fruitful out of it all. Darcy wonders how she ever mistook his general quiet and previous reticence as indicative of anything in this scope—but she’s not going to make that mistake again. Not when he decided moments ago that what Darcy really needed in between a good pounding was his head between her legs—and pulled out suddenly before replacing his mouth over her.

“Bucky,” Darcy gasps, both hands buried in his thick hair as her hips undulate against his mouth. A swirly movement of Bucky’s tongue sends stars to her vision, and Darcy turns her head to the side to catch her breath.

The flash of a bright screen on the laptop cuts through the hazy fog of pleasure, and Darcy shifts a little on the sofa. “Hey, it finished downloading!”

She feels Bucky pause. Slowly, he lifts his head from between her thighs. Without breaking eye contact, Bucky closes the laptop with a pointed _click_.

“One mission at a time, Darcy,” is all Bucky says before going back down on Darcy and making her scream.

**-:-**

“I swear. If I wasn’t seeing this with my own two eyes, I would never in a million years believe it.” Darcy bites her nail as she scrolls through pages and pages of archived documents. “Are you seeing this?”

Bucky nods from where he sits behind her on the bed, leaning against the wall with his arms wrapped securely around Darcy’s waist. “I see it.”

Darcy drops her forehead in her hand. “This is so much worse than I thought was possible. Everyone was in on it. _During the war_. Our own side. You became the Winter Soldier, you were never searched for or rescued when you fell, because Hydra members in our own military made it happen.”

“Yeah.”

Darcy glances back at him. “You’re not angry?”

Bucky looks away, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “Being angry doesn’t bring back the 70 years stolen from me. Nothing in these files is worse than what I already know about myself. What I remember. I just want to move on.”

“You will,” Darcy tells him, lacing their fingers together. “This stuff is from the lawyer who’s doing your case. Pepper really found the best of the best. He’s gonna go to court soon, now that he’s got all this evidence. And this thing with Ross—holy shit.”

“What’s this about the ‘Bio-Tech Force Enhancement Project’?” Bucky squints at the screen as he reads the text.

“Oh my god, okay. I actually know this, because it happened at my alma mater years before I started there.” Darcy shifts on the bed to face Bucky better. “There was an incident at Culver University—a series of incidents, really, when you think about it. Basically, General Ross? He headed this military project, to find a way to recreate the super soldier serum. Dr. Bruce Banner ran the experiment and it went wrong, he became the Hulk. I don’t know all the details. But there was a huge showdown. Frankly, after all that? I’m amazed this asshole got Secretary of State. And I can’t see how he’d be any friend to the Avengers, given his past.”

“He’s not. He started the Accords, he’s doing this manhunt on me. And with Stark’s and Nelson’s intel, this asshole is neck-deep in Hydra and works with the man who framed me.”

Darcy looks away, thinking rapidly. “You know. It all comes back to that military project.” Darcy glances back at Bucky. “He was trying to recreate the super serum. Everything with Banner, that was the serum. Him framing you, him backing the Avengers in a corner with the Accords and trying to turn them against each other, knowing Steve would go after you himself and turn him into a fugitive—it all leads back to wanting the serum.”

“You think…Ross did all this, so he could get his hands on me and Steve?”

“I think Hydra has always been obsessed with the super serum and its power, and Ross is no different.”

Bucky closes his eyes and drops his head against the wall. Darcy leans back against his shoulder, rubbing at her eyes. “I’m so tired, Darcy.”

Darcy turns her head and looks up at Bucky. His eyes are blank, like the way they were the night he saved her life, sitting guard in the motel with a rifle in his hands. A deep-settled sadness lingers there, like a shadow that follows him. There are no reassurances Darcy can give him, nothing that can stop the path they’re on or rewrite the decades of horror Bucky had been subjected to. There is nothing, but nothing is not good enough for Darcy.

Gently, Darcy places her palm on his cheek.

“I know, Bucky. I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short and sweet and filled with feels and it's pretty much the last one like that until the last quarter of Civil War is done. I felt it was important to have one sort of beautiful chapter just for Bucky and Darcy before everything gets Real.
> 
> Let me know what you thought! 
> 
> Until chapter 17 xx


	17. Chapter 17

**-:-**

**“All this time I thought I was alone….And then suddenly, I wasn’t.”**

\--Kamala Khan, _Earth-616_

**-:-**

** Chapter 17 **

Darcy zips up the last bag and gathers the empty water bottles from the nightstand, heading out into the living room. Bucky is on the sofa and staring intently at the laptop screen, brows knitted together in concentration. Tossing the bottles into a plastic bag, Darcy wanders over and sits beside him.

“Anything new?” Darcy asks.

Bucky shakes his head, pushing the laptop away. “Did Steve say anything else?”

“No. Rendezvous time is still noon.” Darcy sighs, glancing around the living room. “I kinda liked this one. As far as safehouses go, you know. It was nice.”

“It was,” Bucky agrees, giving her a little smile. Bucky can feel its disingenuity and knows Darcy sees it too, especially when her gaze softens. She reaches for his hand—metal on warm skin—and grips his fingers firmly. 

“It’s Steve, right? Nothing’s going to happen. And if something does happen, well, we’ll be ready for that too.”

Bucky smiles again, and this time it’s real. The pull towards her is magnetic, automatic. He leans in and she meets him halfway, softly brushing lips in a gentle kiss. She’s smiling when he pulls back, her eyes bright and mirroring back everything he’s been feeling for her for weeks. For a moment it’s overwhelming—the emotions bubble over and spill inside him rapidly and he feels so much; _too_ much. It’s more than he’s felt in years. He feels lucky and wonderful and miserable all at once.

“I wish we didn’t have to do this,” Bucky says without thinking. He looks up and sees Darcy staring at him thoughtfully.

“Which part?”

Bucky swallows, looking away. “Any of it. All of it.” He gazes at their entwined fingers, and runs his thumb idly along her skin. The little metal plates shift minutely at her reciprocal movement. “I’d take you somewhere beautiful. Where the buildings are older and the air softer. Just the two of us. We could have something.”

Darcy stares at him. His heart sinks. He’s said too much. They aren’t there yet, for him to blurt that out. But the deep longing in his chest only tightens, and he finds he cannot feel much regret for saying it. Darcy may as well know. She may as well know how far gone he is.

“That’s what you want?” Darcy asks him hesitantly.

“Yeah, that’s what I want.”

For a second nothing happens. Then, to Bucky’s amazement, a warm smile tugs at the corners of Darcy’s lips and the knot that had been in his chest loosens.

“An ocean view,” Darcy says plainly.

Bucky’s thoughts come to a screeching halt. “What?”

“An ocean view,” Darcy repeats. “Listen, I went from a desert to the land of rain. Whatever this beautiful place is that you want us to live in, I’m putting in a request. Ocean view or bust.”

Bucky starts smirking, and he tugs at her hand until she’s nestled against his side. “An ocean, huh? Well if the pretty girl says so.”

“The pretty girl _does_ say so,” Darcy replies. “And Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“Just to be clear. That something that you just mentioned? We can have that. In fact, we _are_ having that. Just because things are pretty shit right now, it doesn’t mean we can’t have something. I want the thing. You and me. We’ll figure it out.”

The intensity of Darcy’s stare mirrors the weight in her words, leaving Bucky struggling to breathe. His lips part but no words come out. They won’t. Darcy eyes soften, and he knows she understands. Bucky lifts their joined hands and presses a kiss to her skin.

The sound of a propeller breaks the moment. Bucky swiftly moves from the sofa and carefully approaches the window, peering outside. A small helicopter is slowly descending in front of the safehouse, and Bucky is doubly grateful that they’re surrounded by acres and acres of forest. The noise of the helicopter alone is putting Bucky on edge.

“I see Steve,” Darcy mutters behind him. “And I’m gonna assume that the dude with red shades who’s flying this thing is Tony Stark.”

“It’s them,” Bucky replies. “Get your things.”

Steve hops out of the helicopter before it touches the ground. Without waiting for Tony, he does a precursory glance around the safehouse— _good_ , Bucky thinks. He’s still on his guard.

He opens the door just as Steve starts heading towards it. He stops in his tracks, glancing up at Bucky with a mixture of relief and uncertainty.

Bucky glances at the watch strapped to his wrist, then back at Steve.

“You’re actually on time,” Bucky says, crossing his arms over his chest.

A smile quirks on Steve’s mouth, and he shrugs lightly. “Was bound to happen at some point.”

“Seventy years isn’t that impressive.”

Steve rolls his eyes, mouth opening to retort some other smart ass reply, Bucky’s sure. But he pauses, staring at something just over Bucky’s shoulder.

Darcy sidles next to him, bags in tow. “Hey Steve.”

“Darcy,” Steve nods.

“How’s freedom and justice doing since we last saw you?”

“Not that great, to be honest.”

“That’s too bad. You still muscly?”

Bucky bites down on his lip to stop a grin from coming out. Steve huffs a little laugh as he glances down at himself. “Uh, yeah.”

“Great. You can help us out with our stuff,” Darcy edges past Bucky and hands Steve three bags to take into the helicopter, smiling brightly. Bucky realizes it has been quiet, and the propeller has been off for some time now. He looks to the helicopter.

Tony Stark is leaning against the front of the helicopter, watching Bucky with an unreadable expression. Bucky’s hand instinctively moves to his side. The gun on his hip is reassuring.

Steve catches the movement. He glances back at Tony before sighing. “You just gonna stand there?”

“I don’t see why not. It’s a great view,” Tony replies, his arms folded over his chest. His eyes leave Bucky’s as he follows the movement of Darcy making her way out of the house and towards the helicopter. Quickly, Bucky reaches out and takes one of the bags in Darcy’s hand before reaching for one in her other hand.

“I got it,” Darcy smiles, moving the bag out of reach and continuing steadily towards Tony. Bucky’s jaw clenches as he moves to walk beside her. It isn’t the first time he’s felt protective over her, and he knows Stark isn’t going to actually do anything. But the wariness doesn’t fade, and he increases his strides so that he stops in front of Stark first.

Dark eyes narrow behind the red sunglasses. Stark clears his throat and straightens. “I hear you traveled a thousand miles to see me. Makes a guy feel important.”

“We did,” Bucky answers. “Before we realized you were part of the team trying to kill me.”

The cool exterior cracks, and Stark sighs. “Yeah, that. Let’s all pretend that was a small, tiny, insignificant factor that ultimately did us some good because now I’m on the inside of the General’s operations. Did my people, uh, shoot at you by any chance?”

“Not unless you’re Hydra.”

“Steve’s team did try to stun gun us, though,” Darcy adds helpfully, resting her elbow on Bucky’s shoulder. “One of them grabbed my hair. Fucking unprofessional if you ask me.”

“Doll, I think that one was a Hydra agent.”

Darcy pauses. “Huh. I’m still blaming you,” Darcy says to Stark.

Stark raises an eyebrow. “And what are you supposed to be in this dynamic? The Pinky or the Brain?”

“The Darcy. You should probably know the name of the person who hacked into your database.”

Stark freezes. His eyes flicker over her calculatingly before grunting, “Liar. I have security systems you can’t even begin imagining, kid. I’d know if there was a breach.”

“If you say so.”

Stark blinks. “I don’t like you. Steve, you never said Thing Two had a mouth on her. She’s making me question my reality.” Stark turns to Bucky and Darcy again. “You two, in the chopper. Friday, email me all data access points from my accounts in the last two months,” he says to nothing, but a disembodied voice answers, “ _Yes, Mr. Stark_.”

“Did you really do that?” Bucky asks Darcy quietly as they climb inside the helicopter.

“Nope. But that’ll be the last time he ever tries comparing me to a mouse in a cartoon.”

**-:-**

The ride is short, and in less than an hour the New York City skyline is visible. The tension keeps building inside Bucky despite trying to relax. He doesn’t realize he’s clenching his hands until Darcy places her hand atop his, smoothing it out until his muscles loosen. He threads their fingers together, glancing at Darcy who is already giving him a knowing look. He smiles a little, and she returns with one of her own, flexing their fingers together.

“I take it you had the chance to read through the data I sent you,” Tony says over the noise of the copter.

“Yeah. It’s a lot to take in,” Darcy says.

“No kidding. We’re gonna talk about our next move once we convene in the Tower.”

Bucky looks away from their hands to the back of Stark’s head. “Convene with who?”

Stark snorts. “You know, Team Iron Man.”

Steve groans in his hand. “We’ve been through this…”

“Look, Team Cap doesn’t have the same zing to it. We need a group name and I’ve had several objective opinions that said mine was better.”

“Friday does not count, Tony.”

“Just because she zapped you that one time you tried sneaking in my bathroom doesn’t mean you have to hold a grudge—”

“It’s not a grudge, we don’t need team names—”

“Exactly, which is why having _one_ works just fine.”

“Buck, you hearing this?” Steve turns to him from the passenger seat.

“You’re both idiots,” Bucky mutters.

“You got a better name, then, Barnes?” Stark retorts.

“Yeah, I got one—Team shut the hell up.”

 Darcy shakes with silent laughter beside him, making Bucky grin.

Stark lands the copter easily on a helipad, cutting off the engine and hopping out. They grab their gear and follow Stark to a door leading inside the tower. Bucky glances around them warily. They’re very high up, and all the buildings in the city surrounding them are like dots in the distance. It makes him uneasy, the openness and the sounds of airplanes flying overhead. Darcy is stiff beside him as well, increasing her pace to get out of the open air.

Stark holds the door for them. “Make yourself at home,” he says as they cross the threshold. “You can dump your things on that bellhop thing, someone’ll bring it down for you.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “You trust someone not to breathe a word that an international war criminal is staying at your home?”

Stark gives him a bland look. “I should’ve been clearer, I guess. A thing of my creation made of nuts and bolts will bring them to your room. No one is allowed up the residential floors, ever.”

Bucky says nothing. Steve clears his throat. “They’re waiting in the common area,” he says, inclining his head towards the long corridor ahead. “It’s pretty much everyone.”

“Who’s everyone?” Darcy asks.

An answer was not necessary. Steve and Tony lead them to a door and open it for them, waiting. Bucky glances at Darcy. She nods, and together they step through.

“Um,” Darcy says warily as her eyes take in the common room. “Most definitions of everyone doesn’t usually mean half of the city.”

Bucky’s instinctual reaction is to turn around and leave. People, there are too many people and his skin is crawling already, alarms going off in his head as the door closes behind him—

Red hair fills his vision, and Bucky blinks. “Pepper?”

Pepper Potts smiles genially at him, holding out her hand. “It’s good to see you again. I came as soon as I heard you and Darcy would be here.”

“I thought you didn’t…” Bucky casts a wary glance at Stark.

Pepper nods, pursing her lips. “Putting aside our differences to work towards a common goal is not something unfamiliar to us business folks. It’s alright, honestly.”

Bucky nods as she saunters away. This time, he actually looks around the room to see who was here. Foggy, Sam, the Maximoff girl, along with several faces Bucky does not recognize. One thing is certain, though; they are all here for _him_.

Darcy gasps sharply, and Bucky is on her in a heartbeat. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Jane! It’s Jane!” Darcy breaks from him and launches herself at the small brunette woman charging towards her. They embrace tightly, and Darcy’s voice is muffled through Jane’s shirt when she says, “When? How? _When_?”

“Yesterday,” Jane replies, just as happy and wrecked as Darcy. “Tony flew me in. I got your letter, I’m sorry I couldn’t reply to your letter fast enough.”

“Don’t even think about that. I’m just,” Darcy pulls back, sighing a little raggedly as she takes in her friend. “It’s really nice to see a familiar face. A friend’s face.”

Bucky looks away. Steve moves to stand next to him, bumping shoulders. “You ready for this?”

Bucky glances up at Steve wearily. “I’ll have to be.”

“Alright, alright, meeting’s started. Parker, Maximoff, move over and let the new arrivals get somewhere to sit. You can resume your flirting some other time.”

Wanda rolls her eyes as she moves to another spot in the room. “I was doing no such thing.”

“Yeah,” a boy with a raspy, light voice stammers out. “I don’t know why you’d say that, Mr. Stark, I mean I, I don’t even think—” the words fade as Bucky looks at the boy, probably no older than fifteen, with rising horror. He rounds on Stark.

“Who is that?” Bucky demands.

Stark waves his hand dismissively. “Training Wheels project. Don’t worry, he’s fine.”

“He’s a _kid_. I don’t know what the hell you’re planning here but I’m not gonna have an infant fighting my battles for me.”

“Ouch,” Foggy mutters under his breath, making the man with red-mirrored glasses next to him smile. Bucky remembers him from the court footage; Matt Murdock has joined them.

“It’s really not that bad,” the boy says to Bucky, his cheeks pink with embarrassment. “I made my own equipment and I’m just here for—”

“Me,” Stark interrupts, giving Bucky a firm look. “Think of him as my protégé. He’s not going to be fighting any _actual_ fight, he’s here to learn. Better this than flying around in Queens on his own, which,” Stark pins Parker with a stern gaze, making the boy shrink even more, “don’t think I haven’t noticed, kid. I get the paper like anyone else, and you’ve been saving a lot of grannies from petty theft.”

The boy—Parker, as Stark called him—smiles wryly and replies, “No idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Stark.”

“Right. _Anyway._ If that’s all from you, I’m gonna do introductions.” Bucky holds back a sigh and settles down on the sofa cushion that was cleared for him, and Darcy sits next to him with Jane in tow. “Steve, Sam, Wanda, and Scott Lang, who I’m told you’ve already met. Pepper, Nelson and Murdock,” Stark gestures to the two lawyers. “Then there’s Dr. Foster, Rhodey, Vision’s over there, Natasha. Peter Parker, who is pretending he’s one with the linoleum at this point. Sharon Carter and Clint Barton, who graciously stepped out of retirement for the moment…”

“Because I heard what your dumb ass was doing and knew it needed a kicking,” Barton drawls.

“Yeah, yeah. Maria Hill, valiantly recovered from a Hydra bullet,” Stark nods to the familiar woman he’d met in the alley just a few weeks ago. She nods curtly at Bucky. “And of course Friday. Unfortunately my partner in crime Bruce Banner isn’t returning my calls, so he couldn’t make it. Neither could Thor. Honestly I feel like they’re hanging out without me and I have to say, it stings.”

Bucky looks around the room again, taking in everyone slowly. People of the Avengers, people wanting to help him. It feels surreal, like there’s been some sort of a mistake. How did this many people want to help him? How could they, knowing what he’s done?

Darcy’s hand is on his again. Bucky revels its warmth and it calms him down, just enough to give her a small smile. A smile she doesn’t see, because she’s turned to the room.

“So, we’re here. We read the files. What is our plan?” Darcy asks.

Foggy clears his throat. “I’ve been working with Matt since we found out Ross is with Hydra. This has to be done right. First, we need to bolster public support for Bucky. It’s been pretty high since Cap released that video, but we need to keep Bucky in the news. And we definitely need a way to prove Bucky was not anywhere near in Wakanda at the time of the assassination.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible,” Bucky mutters. “I made sure I was untraceable. That doctored photo of me in Wakanda is damning.”

“No,” Darcy says slowly. “No, not completely untraceable. I think…I think I have an idea.” She turns to Bucky, who gives her a questioning look. “Remember when we were on the boat? And it had all the cameras?”

Bucky nods, frowning a little. “I do, doll. But we evaded all those cameras, remember? We even set up a remote system.”

“Yes, we did. But did we do that on the roof? The night we danced?”

Bucky blinks, pausing. Did they? He can’t…did they check…? “Shit.”

Darcy grins. “I think you got your alibi, babe.”

“What exactly did you two do on this ship?” Scott asks curiously.

“Not nearly enough,” Darcy admits with a little sigh.

“I’m not seeing how this helps though, Darce. We can’t get that footage,” Bucky shakes his head.

“Uh, sure you can,” Tony interjects. “You’re forgetting where you are, tin man. A cruise ship surveillance database is no problem with our resources.”

“See?” Darcy gestures to Tony. “I can do this. And—and if I can’t, we’re in a place where we can figure it out. This can _work_.”

Bucky closes his eyes briefly, shaking his head. “If this video…if it’s there…Darcy, you’re in it with me.”

Darcy nods. “I know.”

Bucky frowns. He wants to protest, to quell the idea before it goes out of his hands, but Pepper interrupts. “If we get this video, it has to come from a credible source,” she says. “We did the viral thing last time, but this has to be front page news.”

“Karen.” The man with the mirrored glasses—Matt Murdock—says suddenly. “Karen Page, our former associate. She writes for the _New York Bulletin_. If we get this video to her and she puts it in an article, it’ll be a game changer.”

Foggy nods quickly. “He’s not wrong. Karen managed to get public sympathy for Frank Castle, and cleared Danny Rand’s name just a few months ago. She would be perfect with Bucky’s case.”

“Danny Rand? The rich guy without the shoes?” Sam says dubiously.

“He’s starting to wear them more,” Matt offers.

“This is good,” Tony starts pacing. “Get the video, give it to _The Bulletin_. It’ll go news-viral within minutes.”

“No.”

Bucky’s voice rings out clear and true, silencing the room.

“Bucky,” Darcy says quietly, and Bucky shakes his head again.

“No, not just a video.” Bucky looks at Foggy and Matt. “We do this, we do it right. I want her to interview me.”

Steve looks at Bucky with concern. “You sure you’re ready for that?”

Bucky swallows, his hands fidgeting in his lap. “It doesn’t matter if I am. I’m gonna be front page news for the rest of my life anyway. At least here, I have some control.”

Steve nods. “Fair enough. When can we get that done?”

“I can ask her right now,” Matt starts reaching for his pocket, but Foggy stays his hand.

“I think it’ll be more welcome if this comes from me,” Foggy suggests, wincing a little. “I don’t think you two are exactly _simpatico_ right now.”

Matt withdraws his hand quietly, a frown set in place.

Tony clears his throat. “Okay, we have a video and an article. What else on the agenda?”

Foggy raises two fingers, calling the room’s attention. “I’ve built a strong case against Ross and pretty much everything else that disproves Bucky as responsible for the things he’s done as the Winter Soldier. The last piece we need is what we discussed last time—the book from Siberia with the trigger words. That will be the final blow.” Foggy shrugs. “It’s pretty straightforward.”

“When will that start? You know…the legal process?” Darcy asks.

Foggy shrugs. “It all depends how well we do our job here. And how fast you guys can get that file from Siberia.”

“The double agent bit will come in handy here,” says Rhodey, arms crossing over his chest. “Tony, you have full access to Ross, his workmen, the files there. We need Ross convinced you’re still on his side while we’re getting that file from Siberia. We don’t want him knowing we have a man on the inside while Foggy prepares the case to take him down.”

“Yeah. This dude has done some seriously crazy shit, guys,” Foggy shudders a little. “If he has even the faintest _hint_ that someone is trying to take him down like this? The whole operation will be blown. He’ll bury us all and make it look like _we_ were the ones working with Hydra.”

“Has that happened before?” Peter asks curiously.

“It would only be a matter of time if we don’t stop him,” Wanda answers. “Look what he tried doing with the Accords. Look how he tried to divide us.”

“It’s not going to happen again,” Tony says firmly, with a coldness to his voice that hadn’t been there since Bucky met him. “That will never, ever happen again.”

“Never say never, Tony,” Natasha, who has been silent up until now, finally speaks up. There’s a teasing twist to her mouth that speaks both humor and warning. “History is not kind to optimists.”

She meets Bucky’s eyes, then slides her gaze to Darcy. Bucky looks away, dread curling in his stomach.

**-:-**

Their things are in their room, just as Stark promised. The weight of the day lays heavily on his shoulders, and one by one Bucky peels off his clothes and drops them onto a pile on the floor. They feel like a leaden weight unfolding off his body, yet there’s no true relief between his shoulder blades when the last of it is gone. He’s left standing in his briefs, facing the sink but not daring to look up in the mirror.

He hears the door open and close. A soft shuffle across the floor, and then suddenly Darcy is leaning against the doorjamb to the bathroom.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey. You done with Jane already?”

“Yeah. She’s pretty jetlagged so we’re gonna talk more tomorrow.” Darcy’s eyes skip over him through the mirror and he can feel her gaze like solid warmth on his skin. “That was intense back there.”

“Yeah.”

“You really want to be interviewed?”

“You really think there’s footage of us dancing on the cruise ship?”

“Yes,” Darcy says without hesitation. “It was the only time we didn’t do anything about cameras. I’m sure there was one for the roof.”

Bucky nods reluctantly. “Yeah, I think so too.”

“You don’t seem very happy about having an alibi.”

Bucky lets out a short, humorless sound. “You think I’m happy that the entire world will see you escaping the country with me? You think I want to do that to you?”

“How different is that from what we’re already doing?”

“At least right now we’re hidden. No one really knows. You’re—you’re _safe_.”

“And I’ll be safe when you’re proven innocent too,” Darcy says patiently. “This isn’t forever. We’re almost done, Bucky. We’re nearly done.”

“We’re not. This is going to go on forever. I’m never, ever going to…” Bucky trails, stopping himself.

“To what? To be free?” Darcy prods. “The top lawyers of Hell’s Kitchen would disagree. And so would Pepper, and you know you’re wrong if you try contradicting her.”

Bucky sighs, closing his eyes. “I know, doll. I’m sorry. I keep…I keep going in circles of disbelief. I can’t stop it. I want you with me, I don’t want you hurt. I want to be free, I don’t want to do any of this. I want help, I don’t want anybody we met in the common room involved. It’s driving me fucking crazy.”

Darcy’s fingers gently rake through his hair, sweeping it back from his eyes and trailing down to the nape of his neck. “I’m sorry I can’t help you more with this. I can’t imagine what this feels like,” she tells him quietly.

“No, Darce—you’ve done so much. You’ve done the most.” Bucky catches her fingers with his, dragging her hand down to place over his chest where his heart is steadily beating. “You’re everything.”

The smile she gives him is beatific, and that tightness in his chest returns. “I was going to shower,” Bucky nods at the shower stall.

Darcy glances at it, then looks back at Bucky. “That sounds like a good idea.”

Bucky nods slowly, licking his lips. “You wanna keep me company?” he asks her softly.

Darcy smiles again, her expression warm and open and more than he probably deserves. Not that he would ever let this go. “That sounds like a _really_ good idea.”

Bucky adjusts the temperature as Darcy sheds the last of her clothes. She climbs in first, turning her neck up at the hot spray of water. Bucky follows in after, sliding the stall door closed and leaning against the back tiles, watching rivulets of water chase their way down Darcy’s back.

She turns, eyes meeting his. She holds out her hand and Bucky places his palm against hers, letting her pull him away from the wall and under the spray. Goosebumps raise on his skin and Darcy runs her hands along his arms, feeling each bump and little scar and discreetly shifting plates until her arms are linked around his neck.

Bucky draws her closer, pulling her towards him until they are chest to chest, skin to skin, arms wound tightly around each other. Darcy rises on her toes and buries her face into his shoulder, and Bucky releases a shuddering breath.

The weight that had been resting on him slips away along the water swirling down the drain. His eyes are closed and there is nothing, _nowhere_ he wants to be than right here. He presses that much closer to her, needing to hold her, to feel her warmth, to _feel_. And he does, he truly does feel it—every bit of affection she has for him, every ounce of compassion and care and worry and something more that Bucky can’t bring himself to place. Not just yet.

Darcy leans back a bit to smile up at him. She is beautiful, and he tells her as much. That makes her grin, and Bucky chases it with his lips on hers.

Her hands move slowly over his shoulders, his neck, his scalp. She touches him like she wants to remember him, memorizing and rememorizing every slope on his body and he _loves it_. It makes something warm burn in his belly, pulling her closer and dragging his hands down the smooth skin of her back to her ass. Darcy pulls away from his mouth, pressing her forehead against his as they fight to catch their breath. Her eyes connect with Bucky’s, and no words are needed between them.

Her back presses against the tiles and Bucky lifts her up, holding her steady under her thighs. He’s hard against her stomach, and before Darcy can reach between them Bucky pins her more firmly to the wall and licks his thumb before pressing against her.

The moan she lets out is soft, echoing gently along the bathroom walls. A smile lifts the corner of his mouth as he works her over, setting a slow, even pace until her hips start lifting against his hand. “Bucky,” she breathes, and he leans down to kiss her.

They sigh together as he sinks all the way into her. She kisses him more firmly, latching onto him with every bit of strength as he starts to move. It starts slow, he _wants_ it slow to match the tenderness he's feeling. But a hard thrust and a sharp gasp is all it takes for that control to slip; they are fast, desperate, her hands skipping over his skin and pulling at his hair as he latches his mouth on her throat, nipping it before soothing her with his tongue. He draws it out, he tries his goddamn hardest as he fucks into her because he doesn’t want this to end, and with the way Darcy is holding onto him, he thinks she feels the same.

He comes first, shuddering against her as he fills her with himself. Lifting his head from her neck, Bucky adjusts them so he can brush his thumb against her clit in tight, insistent flicks. “Bucky,” she whines, her voice strained and a faint whisper against his skin. Darcy shivers against his hand, gasping as she comes. Bucky sighs when she goes pliant in his arms.

“I think I love you,” he almost says, as his heartbeat begins to slow. She’s soft and warm and holding him like _he_ is everything. _I think I love you_ , he thinks again, and for the first time in seventy years, he prays that he can still be saved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot continues...and will continue in the next. Hope you all liked this one. 
> 
> June 16 is my one year anniversary for this fic, and I'm going to give a preemptive THANK YOU to everyone who's read, kudo'd, and supported this fic. It is my baby and wintershock means so much to me. You all are wonderful. I'm hoping to update on the sixteenth for that cheesy, full-circle thing, fingers crossed.
> 
> Until chapter 18 xx


	18. Chapter 18

**-:-**

**"Hard part's over. Now let's get these other piggies wiggling."**

-The Bride,  _Kill Bill Vol. 1_

**-:-**

** Chapter 18 **

Karen Page is no stranger to confronting incriminated men. Men double her size, men with soulless eyes, men with a chip on their shoulders, and men who burn their houses to put an end to their past. Frankly, it is routine at this point.

This, however. This is unexpected. This time she doesn’t quite mind Matt and Foggy flanking on either side of her when they stop in front Stark Tower. The noise of the city fades to the back of her mind, her mouth parting. She barely glances around as they get past security clearance and shuffle into an elevator, making a point not to so she won’t get overwhelmed. _No time for overstimulation_ , Karen reminds herself. Not this early. She has to focus.

The call from Foggy and the subsequent conversation with both him and Matt had been beyond anything Karen could have ever predicted. Ellison gave the green light as soon as Karen told him about the plan, practically ushering her out to get the interview as quickly and quietly as possible. From what it sounded like, Matt and Foggy were deeply and personally involved in the fate of James Barnes.

“How did you even _meet_?” Karen had asked, incredulous and no longer able to temper her disbelief.

Foggy had looked at her wearily. “Karen, meeting Bucky Barnes was just the tip of the Avenging iceberg we’ve been through.”

Karen raised her eyebrows and didn’t bother pressing further.

The elevator gives a soft ping when the doors slide open, and Karen takes a bracing breath as she mentally prepares herself for what is to come.

“I wouldn’t be too worried,” Matt says to her, breaking her internal monologue. He peers unseeingly down at her through his red mirrored glasses. “Barnes is actually very nice. Old-fashioned gentleman type.”

“That says a lot, coming from him,” Foggy agrees.

“I’m not worried,” Karen says, and finds that she means it. There is very little she is still afraid of, by now.

Still, she skims the intel on him that Foggy forwarded to her on her phone. On a whole it is…more than alarming, and she wonders if there will be any security inside the room while she interviews him.

“Is there anything I need to worry about while I’m in there?” Karen tips the screen of her phone for Foggy to see. A news article with ‘Winter Soldier’ headlined is there, with a grim photo of Barnes in full tactical gear and a face mask just underneath.

Foggy shakes his head. “That’s not going to be a problem. Not ever, if Bucky has any say in it.”

Her eyes zero in on Barnes the second she’s inside the conference room. His hands are clasped tightly on his knees, eyes flickering up to her when Matt introduces them. His gaze is mild and somewhat skittish, meeting her eyes and flitting away. He doesn’t want to be here, Karen observes. She can’t entirely blame him.

Bucky Barnes stands when Karen holds out her hand, and he shakes it firmly with a little nod. “Thank you for meeting with me, ma’am.”

For a second, she’s tilted off-balance. The gentlemanly greeting is all too familiar, but this time she doesn’t see frantic, caged eyes that are filled with revenge, nothing like what she had experienced with Frank Castle. Barnes is sincere, and for the most part content. And while Karen is certain that demons may still lurk there, they don’t seem to do much more than that. A little smile quirks her lips. “Thank you for putting your trust in me, Mr. Barnes. I promise to try and make this interview as painless as I can.”

Barnes nods, offering a small smile. She turns to Matt and Foggy. “I’ll take it from here.”

Matt frowns. “Are you sure? He agreed to let us in the room.”

Karen turns to Barnes. “Would it make you more comfortable with them in here, or is it okay they leave?”

Barnes gives her a strange look, and says slowly, “All due respect ma’am, but it’s you who should be worrying if you want them here.” He glances away. “For safety.”

Karen’s eyes flicker to the security cameras in the room, the security detail standing outside the door, and Daredevil himself who would know and hear everything happening inside the room regardless if he was present or not.

“Should I be concerned for my safety with you, Mr. Barnes?”

Her stare is pointed. Barnes doesn’t look away this time. “No. Not from me.”

Karen smiles. “Good. And you can call me Karen.”

“Bucky.”

Matt and Foggy leave the room, reassuring her that help will be outside should she need it. They don’t seem worried, though, and that itself makes Karen’s impression of Bucky Barnes continue to drift in curiosity.

They sit down at the conference table, Bucky sitting to her left with his back straight and hands clasped firmly on his lap. Karen makes a show of searching her bag, giving Bucky time to mentally prepare—something he seems to be in desperate need of, if the stiff way he holds himself is any indication.

Setting a notepad and pen neatly on the table, Karen finally turns to Bucky. She gives him a reassuring smile. “This won’t take long, I promise. Hopefully this will be the first and only time you’ll have to sit through one of these, if my work can do any justice.”

A small smile lifts the corner of his mouth, and he relaxes a bit. She takes note of this with some satisfaction. “That’s good to hear, ma’am.”

“Karen.”

“Good to hear, Karen.”

“Are you ready?”

He takes a breath, closing his eyes for a moment. Getting ready. The iron mask he’s been wearing since she entered the room cracks for a second—only a second—and Karen can’t help but staring at the pain that flashes through it. But it is only for a second, and it closes itself up as Bucky returns his attention to Karen. He nods. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

Karen doesn’t answer immediately. Her gaze drops to her notepad, where prepared questions are already written. Taking the impulse, she flips over the page and smooths the paper before turning back to Bucky.

“From what I hear, Bucky, you’ve had a very difficult time, for a very long time.” Bucky stares at her, unsure of where she’s going with this. “The last thing I want to do is add to that. So here’s what we’re going to do. You tell me what _you_ want to tell me. What you think the public should know, and I will go from there. If something is too difficult for you to answer, then you absolutely do not need to. If you need a break, we will take as many as you need. The public needs to be reminded that you are more than what the government is trying to show you as, Bucky. I’m going to make sure that will happen.”

For a moment, Bucky is stunned speechless. Then, with a look so earnest Karen almost looks away, he says, “ _Thank_ you.”

**-:-**

Tony’s eye twitches when Ross gives him a pointed look.

“He’s _where?_ ”

“Switzerland. Nyon, to be exact.”

“And you managed track down Captain America there when my team has been searching round the clock for weeks?”

“All due respect, sir, I have better tech. And brains. Basically, I’m better. That’s why I’m here.”

Ross sighed in annoyance, conceding to the fact. Tony’s lips quirk in a smug little smirk. “And you’re sure Barnes is with him?”

“Yep.”

“Good. I’ll send my extraction team.”

A flicker of panic goes through Tony. He thinks quickly. “No need, sir. I have my own team ready.”

Ross gives him a withering look. “Your Avengers team? You really think I can trust them to work with us and fight against their comrades?”

“It’s what they signed up for. _Literally_.” Tony has to hold off the self-satisfied smile that threatens to break over his face. Ross narrows his eyes, jaw clenching. But just to be safe…“I work better with a small group. These are people who I know and will do what it takes. Don’t waste your resources on an extraction team when I can do it myself without using government funding. You just get those cells ready for Barnes and Captain Rogers.”

“It won’t be just them,” Ross says quietly, a dark intonation of promise. “Whoever is fighting against us gets locked up. I don’t care what the media says; the Accords still stand. Rogers and his gang are violating it.”

“Whatever you want, General. Lock ‘em all. My goal is to keep this planet safe.” Tony clears his throat and checks his phone. “Are we done here?”

Ross grunts and waves him away. “I want them in 48 hours, Stark, or we do this my way.”

Tony waves back dismissively, already halfway to the clearance door. To his phone, he mutters, “Friday, get everyone together at base.”

**-:-**

“We have to _what?_ ” Bucky says first, sharing an incredulous look with Darcy.

Tony raises his palms in an appeasing gesture. “I know. I know, but I had to think fast. I couldn’t let Cap’s efforts of laying the false trailing to Nyon go to waste. Our plans are just…sped up by a million, that’s all.”

“Can I film? Please tell me I can film this,” Darcy says eagerly.

“When?” Steve asks quietly.

Tony shuffles a little where he stands. “Tomorrow…morning.”

Amidst a round of groans, Peter raises his hand. “Sorry Mr. Stark, it’s just I have a quiz in A.P. Calc tomorrow aaaaaaaaaand that’s fine, no that’s fine! I can just call in sick and make it up.”

“Kid, stay in school. The rest of you, gear up and get rested. We’re putting on quite the show tomorrow.”

“Of all the dumb ass ideas you’ve had, Tony…” Sam mutters, shaking his head. “Should we put on some makeup for the cameras too?”

Tony shrugs. “If you want. Just be ready for…well, for some real bullshit.”

“Man, this is great. I can finally use the full scope of my Ant suit,” Scott says with excitement.

“Perhaps I should practice my energy blasts,” Wanda mutters to herself, deeply in thought.

“I may be of assistance with that,” Vision adds.

“Where exactly is this gonna be?” Bucky asks.

“There’s a location some miles north of here. Big enough for a full fight.” Tony inhales deeply. “It’s going to have to be fast, Barnes. We have to hightail to Siberia the minute we’re done.”

“We?” Steve looks at Tony dubiously. “You’re coming?”

“Who’s going to provide and pilot the quinjet to get to Siberia that fast?” Tony shakes his head, pacing around the room. “I have to come.”

“What about Ross? You think he’s gonna sit quietly while you disappear off the grid?” Sam says bluntly.

“He gave me 48 hours; I intend to _use_ them. This could’ve been done differently if Ross hadn’t demanded to see me today…I had to think fast.”

“You did fine,” Natasha interjects. “We’ll stick to the new plan. Stage a fight, get you three to Siberia, Lewis and the lawyers leak the video and article, and we have...” Natasha checks her watch. “Forty-two hours, now?”

“You got the video already?” Tony looks to Darcy. Darcy smiles.

“It really wasn’t that hard. Like you said before—you have the tech, I have the brains.”

Tony considers her for a moment. “You on my payroll yet?”

“ _No_ ,” Bucky says firmly.

“Not yet,” Darcy answers, ignoring Bucky’s glare and subsequent sulking.

“We’ll come back to that.” Tony looks around the room again. “Are you ready?”

Nods of agreement reflect back at him. Tony allows a confident smirk. “Alright, then. Avengers, _assemble_.”

Loud groans of dissent fill the room, and several ‘Tony stop’ and ‘you just had to ruin it, man’ come back to him. In the back, Matt Murdock says loudly, “Yeah, I’m not gonna be part of that.”

**-:-**

The quinjet is full and ready for departure when Bucky pauses before it. Darcy stands beside him, waiting.

His hand captures hers and he peers into her eyes. They’re clear, calm. He wishes he shared the level of confidence she has in him, for himself. Clearing his throat, Bucky says, “This is it.”

Darcy nods. “The first time we travel separately in weeks. Months?”

“Together would be better.”

“I know.” Darcy squeezes his hand. “And we will. Once we have that file. After that, it’s going to be…even harder,” Darcy winces, “being in the forefront of the public eye. But we can do this. _You_ can do this.”

Bucky looks down at their joined hands. “You’ll be safe here?”

Darcy humors him with a wry smile. “You do know I’ve been around a lot longer than the amount of time I’ve had you to look out for me. I’ll survive just fine. Besides, who else is going to leak more footage of our sexy times together on the boat?”

A slow grin forms on Bucky’s lips. “Sexy? You sure that’s what it was like on the boat, Lewis?”

“Are you questioning my honesty and integrity, Mr. Barnes? This is absolutely offensive. I am offended.”

“Not saying anything except there was a whole less sexy and a whole lot more seasickness.”

“Please. That was part of my sexy trap and you fell right in it. Remember how much touching there was because of it? So much touching, Bucky. It was like softcore porn.”

Bucky chokes back a laugh and pulls her by the waist. “Get over here, trouble maker.” He kisses her deeply, lingering when he hears Tony yell for him to keep it in his pants.

They pull apart, his forehead pressing against hers. “See you in forty hours, doll.”

“Forty hours,” Darcy echoes back at him, her voice full of promise.

**-:-**

If this was a western, Bucky thinks, this would be the time a tumble weed would blow past them.

They are lined up, two neat parallel rows of comrades. Stark is fiddling with something on his arm pad, the Iron Man suit gleaming brightly. Friday’s voice crackles in Bucky’s earpiece. “ _Camera bots on standby. Ready to begin motion capture._ ”

As if on her command, Bucky sees several circular bots zip past his ear and into the air—more of Stark’s tech gear, meant to relay proof to Ross that Tony had successfully confronted and captured him.

“Excellent,” he hears Tony say, and he finally closes the iron mask over his face.

For a while, no one moves.

Bucky clears his throat. “So we should …charge?”

Steve glances around dubiously. “I thought they stopped doing this kinda battle a few hundred years ago.”

Scott interjects, “Guys, I think you should know I had a few cups of coffee on the ride here, so no hard punches or my bladder will, uh—make its presence known.”

Across from them, Natasha and Rhodey share weary looks.

Tony’s sonorous voice from the Iron Man suit fill the air. “How about on three?”

“Jesus,” Sam holds back a laugh.

“One,” Tony says.

“Two,” Steve sighs.

“Three,” Bucky says under his breath, and starts running.

**-:-**

Pepper Potts, Karen Page, Jane Foster, and Darcy Lewis sit in front of a plasma Stark TV watching the battle unfold. Pepper had insisted for a live stream, just to keep herself prepared if the need for damage control arose that. Beside them sit Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson, ties off and sleeves rolled as they monitor the news.

“The damning article of James Buchanan Barnes is now live,” Foggy notes as he scrolls his phone. “Aaaaand here comes the media frenzy, yay! Mission success.” Foggy reaches over to fist-bump Karen. “Nice job, Page. Your interview _kind_ of has my eyes misty.”

“Thanks, Foggy,” Karen grins.

When Peter, dressed in his Spidey-suit, flies across the screen and delivers a kick to Bucky—who sidesteps it and looks at him in utter dismay—they erupt in laughter.

“Oh my god,” Darcy starts laughing uncontrollably.

“Who choreographed this?” Pepper says in dismay as she watches Tony half-heartedly deliver a punch to Clint.

“I think they did,” Jane says in awe.

“Ms. Lewis, I think leaking the video to _The Bulletin_ would be appropriate,” Matt suggests, clearly unaffected by things on the screen he could not see.

“Yep. Already on it.” Darcy chances one more glance at the screen, and watches Bucky use the full force of his bionic arm punch down an oncoming cargo hold. Smiling, Darcy opens the laptop borrowed from Stark’s labs and gets to work.

Just before hitting send, she hears the distinct long-suffering voice of Bucky say, “For the last time kid, I’m not going to punch you with the full force of my metal arm, alright?”

“Please, Mr. Bucky I swear I can take it…”

With a grin, Darcy hits send.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! I hope you've had a nice and restful summer! It's time I came back to the swing of things, so here we are. :) Expect a regular routine very soon xx
> 
> Until chapter 19! We're definitely getting closer to the end of this fic xx


	19. Chapter 19

**-:-**

**“I’m not questioning your honor…I’m denying its existence.”  
** — Tyrion Lannister, _Game of Thrones_

**-:-**

** Chapter 19 **

General Thaddeus Ross watches the television screen imperiously, hands clasped lightly behind his back. The door to his office opens after a quiet knock.

“Sir?”

Ross continues to stare at the screen, leaning towards it intently as if waiting for something. Displayed on the screen is a video feed, with several figures charging across it. Flashes of red, blue, and grey, all merging in a ubiquitous blur with the sole purpose of destruction.

“What is it, Caroline?” Ross finally looks away from the screen and turns around to give his secretary a questioning look.

“Have you seen the news, sir?” Caroline asks, a nervous look about her. “It’s pretty, um—severe.”

Ross allows a sneer and walks over to his desk, pouring himself a drink. He takes his time to respond, sipping slowly, before replacing the glass on the desk and fixing Caroline with a smile.

“Do you honestly think I would concern myself with the likes of a news blast from some jumped up hussy in Hell’s Kitchen? That article is nothing but horse shit.”

“Sir—”

“You know what’s not horse shit, Caroline?”

“No, sir.”

“That.” Ross points to the screen, an almost metallic gleam in his eye as two figures—one in blue, the other in black with a fleck of silver—are brought down to the ground. “That was sent to me just a few hours ago. Steve Rogers and James Barnes have been captured. Tony Stark has held his end of the bargain.” Ross smirks. “As if there really is a bargain on the table. For all his smart ass comments and cleverness, the man truly is an idiot. You get that, Caroline?”

“An idiot,” Caroline agrees swiftly.

“Good. In a few hours Barnes will be in my possession and publicly convicted and incarcerated. Let the public chew on _that_ when they try marking him out to be a hero.”

“Very good, sir.”

Ross gives her a look, the excitement from Tony’s video dimming. “Did you come here for a better reason than just waste my time?”

Caroline nods. “Another signal from Stark came through on his way back from Nyon. He’ll be here soon with the prisoners. All of them.”

“Good, good…very good, he’s made good time. Have my men ready.”

“There’s more sir. The other team that was fighting against Stark’s has also been captured. They’re being sent in one of Stark’s vans.”

Ross smiles broadly, a glint of glee in his eyes as he takes another sip of his drink. “Almost feels like Christmas, doesn’t it? I love it. I knew getting Tony Stark on our side would prove profitable, I _knew_ it. Are they on their way here?”

“According to the driver, they’re to arrive very soon. As is Stark.”

 Ross nods and dismisses his secretary. Grasping the glass on his desk, he walks over to the window and peers out into the city. Smiling, Ross tips the remainder of his drink down his throat and adjusts the tie around his neck.

His time has finally come.

**-:-**

**30 hours earlier**

Bucky is quiet the entire way to Siberia. He told Stark the coordinates and retreated to one of the bunks, staring listlessly out the window. The quinjet is streamlined, having the ability to travel across the globe in half the time it would take on a standard plane. Bucky considers this to be good—the faster he can get this over with, the sooner he can leave this all behind.

A quiet knock on the door rouses Bucky from his thoughts. “It’s me,” Steve’s muffled voice filters through the door.

“Door’s open,” Bucky replies. Steve steps inside, smiling a little as he closes the door.

“Hope I didn’t disturb you, in case you were trying to sleep.”

“Nah, I’ve been awake. How’s Stark?”

“He’s trying to find blue prints of the base from the Hydra database leak.”

Another trickle of guilt. “I’m sorry I don’t remember more.”

“Hey, don’t worry about that. Just pointing out its location was more than enough.”

“Stark have any success finding the prints?”

Steve shrugs, swinging out a chair by the bed and lowering himself onto it. “Haven’t asked. He gets twitchy if I look at him too much.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I’m thinking it’s because he still feels like this is all his fault. The whole Accords thing, the thing with Ross…”

Bucky chuckles humorlessly. “If there’s anyone to blame for this mess, it sure ain’t just him.”

“Yeah. There’s Hydra.” Steve looks at Bucky firmly in the eye. “No one else, Bucky.”

Bucky doesn’t meet his eyes. He doesn’t think he will be able to, not for a long time. “There’s a reason I stuck myself here, Steve.”

Steve does not answer, his gaze holding Bucky’s with limitless patience. Bucky closes his eyes. “Being…here. Going back to that place. I…I’m…” he gives Steve a look so fractured Steve flinches. “I’m remembering the bad, Steve.”

 _The kills_. It remains unspoken, but the way Steve glances down at his hands, Bucky knows he understood.

“That wasn’t you.” Steve is quiet, almost pleading.

Bucky stares at him. “It was. It wasn’t only just a machine following orders. What they did to me—what they made me do. I still did it. Part of me was still there. I was, and I _am_ , the Winter Soldier. I have to live with that.”

There is a knock on the door, and without pause it swings open. Tony looks grimly at them. “We’re here.”

**-:-**

**Washington D.C.—Present Day**

For the second time that day, the door knocks.

This time, Ross personally opens the door. His secretary Caroline stands before him again. “It’s time.”

Giddy excitement runs through him, and even with decades of mental and bodily discipline, he can’t help the satisfied sigh that escapes him as he follows his secretary into the elevator. “Is the press here?”

“Already waiting outside like you requested, General,” she replies, clicking furiously at her smart phone. “I’ve set the time for six-thirty.”

“We’ll come out five minutes late. No, eight,” Ross amends quickly, his fingers adjusting the silver-plated cuff links on either wrist. “Let them wait. We have quite the show for them tonight.” He smooths his tie carefully, letting the rich fabric run across his fingers with delicacy. “Do you have my speech ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent. I’d say I’m due for a promotion, but I don’t think that applies for the Secretary of State,” Ross chuckles, and his secretary smiles up at him. The elevator pings softly, and Ross glances up at the counter. He frowns. “I thought we were going to the basement floor? Isn’t that where the van is?”

Caroline shakes her head slowly. “The van is just outside the building, sir. Don’t worry, it’s secure.”

That is…rather odd. Not how would run protocol at all. But Ross doesn’t mind too much at this point. What’s a little disorganization in the face of utter and complete success?

The doors slide open, and the General follows Caroline to the ground floor entrance that lets out to an alley. A smirk pulls at the corner of his lips when he sees the Stark van parked just as promised. He saunters around to the back of the van, and a small troop of five men in tactical gear have guns trained to the double doors. Ross nods at them before reaching for the handle and pulling the door open.

A shuddering sigh of relief escapes him. “Deliverance,” he whispers, eyes slipping closed in a mockery of prayer, before straightening his shoulders and smiling pleasantly at the sight before him. A whole team sits, gagged and bound in the large van. His eyes dance along the faces—Sam Wilson, Clint Barton, The Witch, Scott Lang—and one that surprises even him. “Sharon Carter. Like aunt like niece, eh?”

Sharon’s expression hardens. He realizes she’s trying to say something, and almost lets her continue to seethe silently. Almost. He wants to gloat, and he wants to hear them beg. Turning to one of the men behind him, he orders, “Take off the gags.”

Sharon’s teeth flash when the gag tears free from her mouth, and she glares at Ross. “You won’t get away with this.”

“Get away? My dear, what do you think I’m escaping?” Ross shakes his head. “This is justice to the world. It’s a concept maybe too early for your generation, but this—”

“Man, shut up,” Sam rolls his eyes, looking him over derisively. “You’re gonna look like a damn fool real soon.”

Ross’s attention flares. “Oh?”

“Everyone knows Cap and Barnes got away,” Scott gives him an obvious look. “This isn’t winning, my guy.”

Ross narrows his eyes. “And who are you supposed to be? Bug Boy?”

“Incoming from the elevator, sir,” Caroline alerts Ross quietly, pressing a finger to her earpiece. “Stark has arrived.”

As if on cue, the elevator doors slide open. His heart soars when he sees Stark with a team of agents, all pointing their weapons at the two man flanked on either side of Tony. Steve Rogers, disheveled with one side of his hair somewhat singed; Bucky Barnes, blood splattering his face and mouth like a vengeful mask of crimson.

Ross’s eyes slide to their wrists. Electronic cuffs bind the both of them. Satisfied, Ross turns to Tony. “I see you’ve held your end of the bargain.”

“General,” Tony greets. He is still in the Iron Man suit and is badly bruised; a dark swelling under his eye and parts of his suit are badly crushed. Ross can tell exactly where Barnes’s metal arm had destroyed the infamous suit of iron. “You said forty-eight hours.”

“A man of your word,” Ross acknowledges. He comes closer, until he stands eye-to-eye with Rogers. “All that running. You could’ve saved yourself a world of headache, soldier. Now all you’ll ever see is the inside of a jail cell, far away from civilization.” Rogers continues glaring at him, and Ross turns his attention to the companion beside him. “As for you,” Ross tilts his head thoughtfully. “You’re too dangerous… _invaluable_ to simply lock away on a prison raft.”

Rogers bristles beside Barnes. “What are you going to do to him?”

Ross holds up his hands innocently. “Do? Why, I don’t want to _do_ anything to him. He’s too important.” Ross slides his gaze to Barnes. “He is, after all, the man who shaped the century.”

A cold look of dread fills Barnes, his jaw clenching. Rogers says evenly, “You wanna say that again, General Ross? A little louder, if you can.”

Ross looks at him coldly, his face twisting into a scowl. “Didn’t take long for your smart mouth to show up, did it, Captain Rogers?” Ross nods to the agents surrounding Tony. “Restrain him.”

He enjoys the look of disbelief when Tony’s hands are bound with large metal chains, securing him in the iron suit. “You’re making a big mistake, man,” Tony says, making no move to break through the binds.

“The mistake was your belief in the Avengers,” Ross answers calmly. “Your kind—your rehashed version of Shield—you really thought it could undone decades of our work? Years of fighting against us, nearly wiping out our bases—but we’ll never leave. You, your buddies, and whoever else gets in our way, you’re all going to rot on the Raft, taken out sometimes when I’ll have use of you. And you,” Ross looks pointedly to Rogers and Barnes. “I knew we’d get Barnes, but I _never_ dreamed I would get two super soldiers under my jurisdiction. Just thinking of what I can do with you is more than exciting.”

“Your ambition has gotten ahead of you, General. I knew a guy like that once,” says Steve quietly. “You could take us down, but it will never stop. We will never stop fighting you. If not us, then others will fight you. Hydra will die, and your name will be forgotten.”

“You should know better than anyone you can’t kill a concept,” Ross snaps, stepping close to Steve so they were eye-to-eye. “Enjoy prison, Captain.” Ross looks to the occupants of the van. “Looks like you all have a decorated roommate. You, though,” Ross gives a pointed look to the Maximoff girl, “you’ll have a special cell. Padded and chained. And a straitjacket to stop your hands, perhaps?” In a show of anger, the girl bares her teeth at him.

He turns once again to Bucky and steps towards him. “And for you, the nearest freezer will be best. You’ve been awake far too long, Asset.” Leaning towards his ear, Ross whispers, “Hail Hydra.”

Ross leans away. He nearly startles when he sees Barnes smiling faintly at him.

“Did you get all of that, Nat?” Tony asks.

“Every last word.”

Ross wheels around, just in time to see Caroline press her fingers to the side of her face. Instantly the face shimmers, pixelating until it clears out to reveal Natasha Romanoff smirking at him. She traces her fingers to her scalp and pulls free the black wig, revealing her natural red.

“Powerful men are so predictable,” Natasha sighs, holding up the phone that is still recording their conversation. “Get you riled up just a little bit and you give away everything.”

“Get her,” Ross hisses at his agents. They don’t move. “ _Now!_ ”

“I’m afraid that’s not going to happen,” a new voice enters, and Ross watches his agents give way to a stranger wearing red-mirrored glasses and holding a cane, followed with a sharply-dressed man with blond hair slicked back.

“Who the hell are you? What the hell is going on— _get them!_ ” Ross tells his agents again. He watches in dismay as they uncuff everyone in the van and unchain Tony.

“Afraid Murdock’s right, General. A full confession _and_ capturing your right hand man in under forty-eight hours? I have to say, that’s impressive even for me.” Tony’s smile widens when Ross’s jaw slackens. “Oh yeah. Met your guy in Siberia just as he was getting away with a very important file. Did you honestly think I wouldn’t catch that? You could’ve at _least_ had the guy change his name from Helmut Zemo when you had him openly working for you in the office.”

“Didn’t I say? I said it, didn’t I?” Sam Wilson looks to his companions, who smirk in agreement. “Dude looks like a damn fool now.”

“And it’s not _Bug Boy_ , it’s Ant-Man and you knew that,” Scott Lang glares, rubbing his sore wrists.

The questions fall together in his mind in one resounding snap, and Ross knows he’s been had. From the beginning…no, maybe not from the beginning, Tony had been genuine about the Sokovia Accords when this all began—

_Nyon?_

_Zemo?_

_His own agents?_ No, perhaps not. They’d been Stark’s in the end; the last bits of Shield that he’d managed to salvage.

A shadow falls over Ross, and he looks up. Barnes is standing in front of him, wrists unbound, and staring at Ross with a deadly sort of calm that sends a tremor down his spine.

“The name is Bucky Barnes,” he says softly, so only Ross can hear the words. “And I will never be an Asset again.”

**-:-**

Darcy watches the Stark Industries television screen raptly, eyes darting over the image of General Ross pushed through a crowd of reporters, bound in handcuffs, and stuffed into a heavily guarded police van. A tension she did not know was inside her suddenly gives way, and Darcy sags against the couch she sits on. She sees them now—Tony, Natasha, Steve, Sam, Scott, Sharon—all withholding comment, all being ruthlessly followed by the cameras. Bucky is not there, but she expected that. It is still too soon to be seen in the public eye.

But the words the news reporter says ring true. _General Thaddeus Ross under arrest. Found to be a Hydra leader. James Barnes case now under heavy review._ They show a clip of Darcy’s leaked video on the screen now, alongside Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson answering questions.

“One thing is for certain,” Matt Murdock says clearly into the microphone, staring with unseeing eyes at the camera. “Sergeant James Barnes is no enemy to this country, or this world. I intend to make sure our nation sees that as well.”

Darcy closes her eyes. Finally. _Finally_.

And so it begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: what happened in Siberia (stays in Siberia, of course).
> 
> I'm gonna be honest here. The entire time I wrote this chapter I had one song on repeat: [Light of the Seven](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pS-gbqbVd8c). From the sixth season of Game of Thrones. Only this chapter is sort of a reverse-Sept of Baelor scene, in which the other side succeeds. 
> 
> Thank you lovelies for your kind and wonderful support + feedback! Hope you liked this version of what goes down to Ross, and that it made sense. The next chapter will pick back up in our Bucky and Darcy moments, so something to look forward to :)
> 
> Until chapter 20 xx


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter.

**-:-**

**“I'm not the same boy I was before**  
**But I've not changed my desires**  
**I've not extinguished the fires**  
**I haven't lost wide eyed wonder.”**

—Same Man I Was Before, _Danny Elfman_

**-:-**

**Chapter 20**

Bucky follows behind Tony and Steve silently. Steve had pressed a gun into his hands just before stepping off the helicarrier, and Bucky is proud to say he only hates himself a little bit for how familiar and comfortable it feels in his grasp.

The base is cold and creaking as Tony leads them inside. Every sound makes Bucky’s heart rate speed up, and he has to take several, even breaths to slow it back down.

“You okay?” Steve asks him quietly.

Bucky nods, keeping his eyes trained on the back of Tony’s head. “Fine.”

Bucky Barnes is not fine.

It is as if a film grain covers his eyes—murky, half-formed memories flash in his mind like firecrackers on concrete. Over _here_ he’d bled against a wall from a knife wound, over _there_ he’d had the shit kicked out of him with hard blows to his ribs. The memories unfurl slowly in his mind like clouds of smoke clearing away, little by little. Sometimes he hears an echo of a voice—

“…need to go back?”

Bucky blinks. Tony is staring at him, straight in his eyes. “What?”

Tony stares at Bucky, his eyes narrowing. “Barnes. Do you need to go back to the helicarrier?”

Bucky’s eyes widen.

“I’m okay.”

“Sure don’t look okay.”

“Bucky,” Steve starts, but just then a loud crash comes from ahead that sends all three of them on high alert.

“Let’s go,” Bucky mutters, holding his gun ready and peering through the eyepiece. He can see Tony shift his concern as he turns around and flexes the fingers of his iron suit.

The sounds escalate as they reach the end of the corridor to a pressurized door. It takes one blast from Tony’s hand to open it.

The reveal is almost anticlimactic—there Zemo is, poised over a control pad with one hand clutching a familiar red book with a black star positioned at its center.

A flash of _something_ flickers in Bucky’s mind and he grits his teeth, shaking his head.

“Ah,” is all Zemo says.

Tony clears his throat through the iron mask. “So how d’you want to do this? There’s a painful way and a…well, not _less_ painful but definitely a more straightforward way.”

Zemo pauses, as if actually giving it some thought. “Hmm. I will have to say neither. Though I am disappointed, Stark. I expected—”

“Yeah no, I’m not in the mood for small talk,” Tony waves his hand disinterestedly. “You’ll say something, I’ll say something, you’ll get under my skin and you’ll reveal your master plan and in the end, we still kick your ass and take you in cuffs. Let’s just fast-forward to the good bits, okay?”

Zemo hikes up an eyebrow. “By all means,” he tilts his head, then clicks a button. “But first, I believe you will want to see this.”

A video feed flickers into life, projecting onto an adjacent wall. Bucky, Steve, and Tony glance in surprise at what appears to be a surveillance feed of a desolate highway.

When a car crashes, and a motorcycle pauses before it with a silhouette of a man that makes Bucky go very ill and very pale all at once, Zemo allows himself a little smile. Bucky can feel Tony looking at him, _Steve_ looking at him and tiny shivers run up and down his body. The gun clatters to the ground by his feet, his fingers trembling uncontrollably.

Bucky remembers. He finally remembers it _all_.

“So you see,” Zemo’s says softly, “who is the real villain here?”

Tony’s hands clench into fists.

“Tony,” Steve says quietly. “Tony, no.”

“James Barnes is—” Zemo begins but never finishes, for Tony raises one hand and blasts Zemo unconscious.

Tony breathes loudly, shaking. He walks up to Zemo’s prone body and snatches the book from his fingers, tossing it to Steve who in turn catches it haphazardly. Tony strides to Bucky, leveling him with a look of pure loathing.

“Did. You. Know.”

Bucky swallows hard and shakes his head furiously. “J…just now. Only now. I’m sorry. S—sorry.” Bucky’s shaking worsens. It’s too much—the bits and flashes of memory making their way to the forefront of his mind are steadily dismantling his control.

He doesn’t look at Tony, but Tony looks at him. He is shaking too, with rage and fury and restraint that has Steve eyeing the pair of them warily. Tony glances at the book that Steve’s now holding.

“If I said those code words in that book, would the Soldier be able to tell me the same?”

Bucky looks up sharply.

“Yes.”

“Tony,” Steve’s voice is firm. “ _No._ We need to leave.” When Tony makes no reply Steve adds, quietly, “It wasn’t Bucky that killed your parents. It was Hydra. The Soldier. Bucky was as much helpless as you are now. Please, _please_. We need to get Zemo and this book and head back to D.C. _now_.”

“Do it,” Bucky says, ignoring Steve.

Tony narrows his eyes.

“Do it,” Bucky repeats. “Say the words. You deserve this. Say them, and do with the Soldier what you want to do right now. He will be under your control.”

Tony’s right hand clenches to the point the metal protests in his grip. He steps back, staring at Bucky with pure venom. “I hate you. You killed my mom. I _hate_ you.”

Tony stalks off and heads straight to Zemo, locking handcuffs onto him and dragging him outside of the room by the collar.

Steve warily approaches Bucky. “C’mon,” he says in a soft tone. He picks up Bucky’s gun and gently guides him out of the room and back to the helicarrier, one hand firmly on Bucky’s elbow.

The doors close and the helicarrier lifts off into the air the second Steve and Bucky are inside. Zemo is tied to one of the seats, his hands cuffed securely behind his back. He’s starting to rouse, and his gaze lands squarely on Bucky.

“You,” Zemo says quietly, “will always be a monster.”

Bucky glances at Steve. Then, with two long strides, Bucky leans in closely to Zemo.

“Go to hell.”

He tips is head and crashes it against Zemo’s—blood splatters from his forehead and Bucky feels warmth trickling along his face and falling around his mouth. When he steps away from Zemo and glances up, he sees Tony appearing from the cockpit. His arms are folded and the iron suit is gone.

Tony looks away and leaves.

-:-

In less than an hour from his arrest, the whole world knows of General Ross’s treachery—filmed on camera, at that.

In a week, the Sokovia Accords are officially discarded, and the Avengers reinstated with their original provisions.

In a month, Foggy Nelson and Matthew Murdock make their first and only court hearing on James Buchanan Barnes. His freedom is won in less than a day.

President Ellis issues an official pardon for Sergeant James Barnes. Steve openly weeps during a televised ceremony, as does Darcy.

Ross is sent to the Raft. Nobody _really_ hears from him again, much to the collective relief of the Avengers and the team that worked on Bucky’s freedom.

Matt and Foggy return to Hell’s Kitchen where they lose touch with the Avengers immediately, being drawn into the case of what caused the unbelievable earthquake throughout the entirety of the Kitchen.

With the help of some serious innovators in science and medicine, Bucky is slowly reconditioned to remove the trigger words from his mind. It is long, and painful, and agonizing. Bucky would do it all over again nonetheless.

It all happens, rather quickly, but to Bucky time has finally slowed. For while all of this is important and wondrous and the beginning of something new, he can finally breathe. He is still alive, and _breathing_ , and he does not know any of those things are to come when the helicarrier touches down on U.S. soil again.

Staging an arrest in front of Ross is cathartic and surreal.

But most of all, for now, he is _free_.

When they reach Stark Tower again, Bucky thinks of the steps it will take to open the door and take the elevator to the floor Darcy is on—but then she’s _there_ , waiting right before the helicarrier with wind whipping her hair and making her squint. Everything else fades, in that moment. Bucky pushes off the carrier and lands heavily on his feet, bolting to a run towards Darcy. The next thing he knows they’ve crashed into each other, arms wrapped around the other and holding on desperately. It isn’t until several minutes later that Bucky makes out Darcy’s quiet, breathless chant: “You’re free, you’re free, you’re _free_ …”

Bucky tightens his grip around her, burying his face into her neck.

**-:-**

**Two months later**

“You know, I still can’t get over just how much Steve cried. I think he’s been holding back that cry for a good, I don’t know, eighty years,” Darcy says as she folds the last of the laundry into her suitcase.

“I think they were filming him more than they were filming me,” Bucky says mildly, to which Darcy snorts.

“Well, how does it feel being a free man again?” Darcy’s eyes glance over his as she asks.

Bucky shrugs, fiddling with the medal that felt like a weight of lead in his hands. “It doesn’t feel like anything.” At Darcy’s patient look, he continues. “Just feels like I’m waiting for the rug to be snatched under me any second. Doesn’t feel real yet, I guess.”

“I suspect it won’t for a while,” Darcy replies softly.

A knock on the door diverts their attention. Darcy walks over and opens it, revealing Tony leaning against the door frame.

Darcy immediately rolls her eyes. “Not this again.”

“Listen. I don’t think you fully understand the lucrative offer I have on the table here. Foster has already agreed, doesn’t that mean anything to your—what is it? Starving student brain? A job is a job is a job, my friend.”

“Yes, and I’m so happy for Jane. But right now I can’t make any promises, Mr. Stark.” At his look, Darcy amends, “Sorry. Tony. I don’t know where I’ll be when I finish my degree. But I will let you know if I change my mind.”

Tony makes a face and give a long-suffering sigh. “Fine.” He glances at Bucky, and the air shifts to something heavier, more awkward.

They hadn’t spoken, not really, since the Zemo capture. Bucky meets Tony’s gaze warily, but the words that come out of Tony’s mouth are the least he expects.

“Same goes for you, Barnes. Could use a guy like you.”

Bucky’s eyes go wide. He glances at Darcy, disbelief shared between the two of them. “I…” he begins, but like a turn of a tide, the shock settles inside him. He offers a small smile. “Thanks.”

Tony ticks up a brow. “Seriously, what is with all the rejection here? I have not been this rejected since junior high at the Masquerade Dance. No, really, what is it?”

“Just not the right time, my guy,” Darcy shrugs, offering an apologetic smile. Tony grumbles something under his breath and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

“Well, that’s the end of that.” Darcy zips up the suitcase and finally settles on the bed. “We are packed and ready for England. You sure you still want to come with me?”

“For the last time, I’m _sure_ ,” Bucky says, settling down closer to her.

“What’re you gonna do there?”

“I’ll be your breadwinner.”

Darcy snorts.

“You don’t believe me? You think I can’t make an earning?”

“Oh, I don’t doubt you could. But I doubt you’ll be bussing tables when the government gave you a big, fat check that’ll make sure you never lift a finger for the next five hundred years.”

“I am offended, Darcy. This is offending.”

“So you’re _not_ gonna use the check?”

“I’m gonna make you shut that sweet mouth of yours, that’s what.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well go on, then.” Darcy tilts her chin up, waiting. Bucky grins and kissed her deeply, making Darcy forget their banter long enough to lift a hand against his cheek and let out a soft moan. When he leans back, Darcy takes a moment to open her eyes.

“I love when you do that,” Darcy sighs, blissfully.

“I love you,” Bucky says.

Darcy’s eyes fly open. For a moment he looks frozen, as if he hadn’t expected to say that. But the tension immediately melts from his shoulders, and he looks at Darcy steadily.

“You love me?” Darcy asks softly.

Bucky nods slowly. “’Fraid so, doll. That a problem?”

“No, not a problem. Definitely not…a problem. I do too, by the way.”

Bucky shakes his head. “You don’t have to say it back.”

“I know that. I’m gonna anyway, because I mean it. I love you, Bucky Barnes,” Darcy says, looking at Bucky seriously. “I have for a while.”

They stare at each other for a moment before breaking into identical grins.

“You still think if I should come with you to England or not while you finish your degree?” Bucky teases.

“I think you should kiss me some more, Bucky, and answer all other questions at a later date and time, when our nudity will not be imminent. Case and point,” Darcy whips off her shirt and climbs onto Bucky’s lap. He kisses her, hard and soft all at once, before Darcy suddenly pulls away.

“What is it?” Bucky frowns.

Darcy bites her lip, thoughtful. “You know, in all this time, I can’t help but think. Where’s Bruce?”

Bucky shrugs. “With luck, hopefully somewhere better than here.”

Darcy smiles, and Bucky’s heart fills with wonder at how goddamn lucky he really is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, we made it! A Mask of My Disguise is COMPLETE!
> 
> To everyone who read this fic and gave it a chance, thank you so, so much. I love all of you. Thank you for being on this journey with me! 
> 
> I'd meant this to have a tad bit more length, but I had to be honest with myself and let the story be complete and not drag on unnecessarily. There's two nods to canon MCU in here: one with Matt and Foggy entering the events of The Defenders, and the other being a nod to the events that transpire in Thor: Ragnarok with Bruce Banner's marked absence. So hooray! Loose ends have been tied.
> 
> Thank you again, lovelies! xxx


End file.
